Never Spellbound by a Starry Sky
by robot iconography
Summary: Strange goings-on mar Rick and Evelyn's wedding preparations. Can they and Jonathan solve the mystery? FINISHED!
1.

Author's Notes:  
  
Well, after a lot of encouragement (okay, two e-mails, one of which was from myself) I've decided to embark on a new adventure--a full-length chapter story. But I'm not going to post it if no one's going to read it. Most of my latest posts have gotten a number of reviews which I could count on my fingers. So, in the words of Olivia Newton-John, if you love me, let me know. ;) I'll post more chapters if anyone out there wants them.  
  
The title is from that fabulous old Mack Gordon/Harry Warren tune, "At Last", which I think everyone will agree I did not write. All chapter header quotes are from Elizabeth Peters' even more fabulous novel "Crocodile on the Sandbank", which I also did not write (alas!) and which I suspect Stephen Sommers, or someone else who worked on the movie, must have read at some point. Incidentally, neither Peters' characters nor Sommers' belong to me, a fact which, besides causing much wailing and gnashing of teeth, means that I need to remind everyone that I'm not making any money off of all this fanficking.   
  
So, without further ado, I present:  
  
"Never Spellbound by a Starry Sky"  
  
by Eve  
  
I was never spellbound by a starry sky,  
What is there to moonglow when love has passed you by?  
Then there came a midnight, and the world was new;  
Now here am I so spellbound, darling,  
Not by stars, but just by you...  
  
--"At Last"  
  
1.  
  
"Archaelogy is a fascinating pursuit, but after all, one cannot work day and night..."  
  
~~  
  
I suppose it all started with Jonathan. Most of the stranger events in my life have. Honestly, the man is able to find trouble more easily than he can his own shadow! (Some people have--rather unfairly, I think--suggested that it runs in the family.)  
  
On this particular day, however, not one of us could have predicted any sort of problem--not even Rick O'Connell, my own dear beloved doomsayer, who sees curses everywhere he looks. The air was clear, the sky was blue, the sun was clearly visible, and there was not a single frog or locust as far as the eye could see. For this we were all very grateful--almost as grateful as I was, at this point, for simple conveniences such as fresh clothes, clean, soft sheets and pillows, hot water, and a good slice of English bread and butter.  
  
We were no longer staying at the fort, but at an hotel; Jonathan and Rick in one suite, and I in the adjoining one. It was a dangerous time for white Europeans in Egypt, particularly those associated with the military. British officials and soliders were often attacked in broad daylight. A few had even been killed. Truth be told, the Egyptians had good reasons for despising us; we had done little to help them, and much to hinder their survival. The weeks we'd spent travelling to and from Hamunaptra had opened my eyes to what Egypt was now, where before I'd only been able to see what it had once been. European landowners forced farmers to grow cotton instead of food; families were starving. Many sickened and died without proper medical services or even a reliable clean water supply. And my precious antiquities were regarded only as curiosities to the Europeans, as toys for their amusement. The mummies of the poor were ground into powder and sold as medicine--or worse, used as firewood.  
  
I needed to go back to England and write about this. I would give lectures at the museum, and publish. People needed to know the true state of affairs in Egypt. The Museum wouldn't like it, I reflected; they'd barely had time to get used to women in their ranks, and now I was going to come along and stir things up even more by suggesting we should be protecting Egypt and not pilfering it.  
  
Rick, who had spent more years in Cairo than he had in his homeland, was far more in touch with the situation than I had been. He spoke Arabic like a native, and had quite a few friends in the streets and the teeming markets. (That many of these friends were associates from his short time in prison, I chose not to dwell on.) He carried himself in even the most disreputable parts of the city as though he had every reason to be there.  
  
Now, however, he wasn't looking quite so self-assured. Neither, for that matter, was the tailor's assistant, who assiduously avoided any kind of eye contact as he crept closer.  
  
"Evelyn, if you think I'm gonna let this guy keep touching my ass, you--"  
  
I should probably interrupt to explain (particularly since the rest of the sentence isn't something I'd like to repeat in any case) that Rick was being measured for the suit he would be married in. Not that I was rigidly attached to pomp and ceremony, but I didn't think a nice, English-made suit was too much to ask. I would have preferred to wait until we got home, but then I spoke to an old friend of my father's at the consolate, who pointed out that it would be much easier for Rick to become a British citizen if we were married when we arrived.  
  
"It is for me no great pleasure, effendi, you are assured," remarked the assistant.  
  
"Don't call me that," growled my fiancé, fists clenched. He refuses to be addressed by that archaic term, which so many of the white Cairenes still demand as a sign of respect and deference.  
  
"Enough!" I cried, halting him mid-step. "Now, darling, just hold still a moment longer," I placated, gesturing for the tailor and his man to get on with it. "It will all be over in a moment, and then we can go for a walk in the garden."  
  
Rick's posture altered, almost imperceptibly, and his hands relaxed. In recent days our walks in the more secluded areas of the hotel's garden had afforded little opportunity for talk, but had involved plenty of other activities I knew he enjoyed. He flashed me that grin that he thinks is dashing and debonair, and I smiled back in spite of myself.  
  
The tailor's assistant hesitantly resumed his work. Rick held perfectly still, but through his teeth, he calmly remarked, "If he puts so much as a finger on me again, the last thing he'll ever see is my knee coming towards his nose."  
  
I sighed. "Do you want the suit to fit, or don't you?"  
  
"I have plenty of clothes that fit okay--"  
  
"Cheap clothes. Which my brother bought you. Off the rack."  
  
"Actually, it wasn't a rack, it was more of a... camel."  
  
"You are not helping your case, effendi," whispered the tailor's assistant, into the cuff of Rick's trousers.  
  
Rick's affable expression never wavered as he dealt the man a swift kick to the posterior.  
  
I ushered the somewhat irritated tailor and his even more irritated assistant out of the suite, assuring them that we would finish this at a later time. I pressed a folded bill into the tailor's hand, and suddenly it was no trouble at all.  
  
As I closed the door behind them, I heard Rick ask hopefully, "So now we go for a walk in the garden, right?"  
  
I glared at him. "Wrong. And take that off before you crease it," I added, gesturing to the pin-laden suit.  
  
"You got it."  
  
He shrugged out of the jacket, dropping it to the floor. Next the waistcoat and suspenders. Then he lifted his shirt up over his head and discarded that as well, the result of which effectively erased whatever thought had been on the tip of my tongue. He was making short work of his trousers when it occurred to me that perhaps I ought to ask him to... "Stop!"  
  
He was at my side in an instant, throwing one arm around my waist and gathering me close. "What? What is it? What's wrong?" Well, perhaps I had yelled a bit loudly. The look of concern on his face made me feel quite foolish for scaring him that way. After everything we'd been through, I suppose it was somewhat over the top. "Evie, it's okay, I'm here." He looked down at me tenderly. "What is it?"  
  
"Don't you think... you should do that in the other room?" I asked, suddenly finding it very hard to speak.  
  
Out came the grin again, as well as an ostentatious display of his upper arms that--I confess!--made me feel a bit wobbly about the knees. "Maybe. Are you gonna come too?"  
  
"Rick... please."  
  
"What, am I embarrassing you?"  
  
Embarrassed was not the word I would have used. Thrilled might have been a bit more to the point. But I wasn't about to admit that to him.  
  
"Someone might come in and see you," I replied, weakly.  
  
"Yeah? So?"  
  
"Well, what would they think?"  
  
"Oh, I don't know... maybe that we're a very happy young engaged couple?"  
  
"Not that happy." I gently removed him to a respectable arm's length. Rick hitched up his trousers and looked so crestfallen that I favoured him with a devious little smile. "Not in the middle of the day with all the curtains wide open and the door unlocked, anyhow."  
  
His face lit up. "You mean if I shut the curtains...?"  
  
"Look, why don't you go get dressed, and we'll take a--" The last word of the sentence was muffled by Rick's mouth. For a single moment, I abandoned every misgiving I'd had about the open windows, the unlocked door--  
  
"Evie...? Oh, terribly sorry! Mea bloody culpa! I can't even walk into my own hotel room anymore without..."  
  
--and the propensity of my brother to turn up wherever he wasn't wanted.  
  
"Jonathan, come back here," I called, grabbing Rick's shirt, waistcoat and jacket and tossing them at him. "You, go and change your trousers."  
  
Rick fixed me with the wounded look, but I was determined not to be affected by it this time. "I thought we were going to go for a--"  
  
"Trousers! Now!"  
  
He backed into the bedroom, the bundle of clothes under one arm, and closed the door behind him.  
  
Jonathan edged back into the suite, warily, as though something were about to leap out and bite him. He carried a funny sort of package under one arm, wrapped in what appeared to be a sheet of cheap, mass-produced papyrus, the type that are manufactured in the local markets and sold to tourists at inflated prices. He held it out in front of him, gesturing for me to take it. "Sorry the paper's not that fancy, sis, but as the happy event's in a few days, I thought I'd better get a move on, and this was nearest to hand. Rather pretty, I thought--nice little painting of Tefnut on there..."  
  
"What is it?" I asked, carefully opening the package. It wasn't like Jonathan to give me anything he'd personally paid for. Papa had--very wisely, I thought--left control of the family finances to me when he passed on. I provided Jonathan with a monthly stipend, and backed the occasional gambling debt for him--but other than that, he was left to fend for himself.  
  
"Oh, you know, old mum, something in the way of a wedding present, hmm?"  
  
It was an amulet of gold, blue, and black. I weighed it in my hand; it felt surprisingly light.  
  
"It's old what's-his-arse," Jonathan put in, rather incoherently. "You know, the funny one who dragged everyone off into the desert to worship the sun. His wife's on there too. Bloody romantic, I thought."  
  
I looked closely, and found that, yes, Akhenaten, the so-called "heretic" king, was featured in relief on the amulet, along with his 'Great Royal Wife', Nefertiti. They were easily recognized because of the stylistic peculiarities in their portrayal; Akhenaten's elongated features and curvaceous body were unmistakeable. Some believed the king had been a eunuch, or possibly even a woman disguised as a man. I'd have to be careful how I explained it to Rick, otherwise he might end up belting my brother a good one across the mouth. Not that I didn't sometimes contemplate that myself, but still.   
  
"It's beautiful." I eyed my brother, who was looking suspiciously disingenuous. "Where did you get it?"  
  
Jonathan mumbled something about a little stall in the suk.  
  
I fixed him with my very sternest look. "You didn't steal it, did you? If that's the case, it'll have to go back to whoever you took it from."  
  
He had the outright nerve to look affronted by my question. "Heavens, no--of course not! What do you take me for, Evie? I... found it."  
  
I sighed.  
  
"Oh, all right. I won it in a card game. Are you happy now? It's not genuine, of course--forged by one of those little blighters you can find roaming the marketplace. But it's a fine piece of work, and a damn sight more authentic than any of these Van Cleef and Arples knock-offs, I dare say." Several prominent jewellers, including Cartier, had already begun producing imitation Egyptian trinkets. Rather gaudy, most of them.  
  
I placed the tiny amulet in the palm of my hand and regarded it critically. Probably a paste piece, molded and painted in imitation of gold and lapis lazuli.   
  
"Knock-offs? You've been talking to Rick again." Jonathan had become almost as enamoured of American slang as he was of the British variety, and relished any chance to practice his new vocabulary.  
  
At that exact moment, as though he'd been summoned, Rick walked in--fully clothed, much to everyone's relief (although I will confess to some slight disappointment). "What's a knock-off?" he demanded, snatching the amulet from my grasp. He examined it a moment, then clamped his free hand down on my brother's shoulder. "Jon, buddy, you swipe this?"  
  
"Swipe? You mean--look, why does everyone naturally assume I bloody stole something just because I happen to have a bit of good luck?"  
  
Rick and I looked at each other, then at Jonathan. Silence.  
  
"Can't you just take my word for it?"  
  
More silence.  
  
"Oh, well, yes, fine, I can see how this is going to work--you two against me, well, that's just fan-bloody-tastic. First you couldn't stand the sight of the man, Evie, but now it's all smiles for him, and none for your own dearest brother. Traitor."  
  
"He won it in a card game," I explained, ignoring the amateur dramatics.  
  
Rick grunted. "He says. Think it's real?"  
  
"I very much doubt it. All the same, it's the thought that counts... thank you, Jonathan."  
  
Rick sat down in a corner of the settee to look over the piece, handling it delicately as he did so. Though he claimed his knowledge was limited exclusively to treasure, I could tell Rick had the makings of a very fine field archaeologist.  
  
I turned to my own dearest brother, who had collapsed theatrically into a nearby chair and thrown one arm languidly across his forehead. "Jonathan, did you, by any chance, remember to finish even one of the errands I sent you out to do?"  
  
"The whole sodding lot, thank you very much," he murmured into his sleeve.  
  
"Did you book our passage home?"  
  
"I did indeed."  
  
"Did you arrange for our, er, luggage to be sent along directly?" As much as I wanted to donate the Hamunaptra treasures to the museum, explaining where we'd found them without revealing the exact location would have proven to be something of a difficulty. So we'd wrapped the various articles too precious to part with up in our own suitcases, which would travel with us, and the rest was being sent on to the house. Over the next several years, we would "discover" the most valuable pieces during the course of our excavations. It pained me, as a trained scholar, to fool my colleagues in this manner, but there simply wasn't any other way to ensure that the treasures found their way into a museum and not into the hands of some unscrupulous character or other.  
  
"Yes. I'm so well-prepared that it's really quite disgusting."  
  
"You've settled all your debts?"   
  
"Absolutely, old mum. I tell you, I thought of everything."  
  
"In that case, I assume you sent a telegram to the house."  
  
He straightened in the chair. "Ooh. Er... yes, right, I was just going to--"  
  
"Here, let me write down what I want you to send." Jonathan's telegrams were always far too wordy and rife with unnecessary--and expensive--detail. I grabbed a nearby sheet of paper, scribbled down a few brief words, to the effect that Rick would be with us, added instructions about which rooms were to be opened, and handed it to him. "There."  
  
"Sister mine, is there any chance you could..." he held out his hand shamelessly. "I'm just a teeny bit short, you see, and--"  
  
"Yeah, and he doesn't have any money either," was Rick's helpful contribution.  
  
"Yes, thank you, O'Connell. Evie...?"  
  
I pulled a wad of notes from my bag, peeled off one, and handed it to him. Jonathan looked singularly nonplussed--even more so when I informed him that I expected change. Don't mistake me, I love my brother dearly; but, if I let him, he'd quite cheerfully spend until we were both living in the street, at which point he would wager me in a card game--and most likely lose.  
  
Jonathan having been thus dispatched, I returned my attention to Rick, who was still intent upon the little amulet. I went over and perched beside him on the settee. "It's supposed to be a wedding present. It's actually quite pretty, isn't it?"  
  
No response.  
  
"I thought I might put it on a little chain, and wear it around my neck."  
  
Nothing. Hmm.  
  
"When I dance naked on the bar for pocket change, as I do every Thursday evening."  
  
He didn't miss a beat. "Make sure they give the money to you and not your brother."  
  
I watched him a moment--watched the beams of the afternoon sun catch and glow in his hair, on his brown skin; watched the play of muscle and sinew against the linen of his white shirt; watched the intensity of his expression as he studied the amulet. Finally, he looked up. Our eyes met, and something electric passed between us; that sort of beautiful, intimate understanding we had at times, where words were no longer required. He leaned forward, gazing deeply into my eyes, and, his voice husky with emotion, said,  
  
"Dammit, Evelyn, what do you want?!"  
  
Bloody romantic, as Jonathan might have said.  
  
Hmph. 


	2. I should have borrowed his mummy costume...

Author's notes: No more begging for feedback, I promise. ;)

  


2.

  


"I should have borrowed [his] mummy costume and carried you off into the desert!"*

  


~~

  


It's a miracle I made it this far.

  


I'm not talking about the whole mummy-walking-plague-dead-guys-with-really-bad-breath thing. That, I knew I'd come through okay. Takes a hell of a lot more than a few corpses to keep Rick O'Connell down. Give me anything--a gun, a sword, a pointy stick, a rock--and I'll take on a whole legion of the undead if I have to. But put a woman in front of me--especially a smart one like my Evie--and I turn into a complete gibbering idiot.

  


We walked in the garden--just walked, not much else. It was a nice, breezy day, which meant there were lots of people out. Which meant we had an audience everywhere we went. Mostly old ladies whose doctors had told them to come here for their health; the majority of them had probably never seen Egypt, the real Egypt, but they'd go home and swear that they had.

  


Evelyn was talking a mile a minute, with me throwing in an occasional "Uh-huh" and "Oh, yeah", for variety. I tried to listen, I really did. But all I could think about were the sweetly rounded curves hidden beneath her loose-fitting blouse and respectable librarian-type skirt. The clasp on her locket had gotten broken at some point during the whole Hamunaptra disaster, so instead she wore the amulet Jonathan had given her the day before, on a fine gold chain. It lay against her creamy skin, just above the soft swell of her breasts, like a little arrow: _this way to paradise_.

  


"You'll love the house, darling," she was saying. "It was in Father's family, of course, but my mother was the one who really made it a home. She and father travelled all over Europe on their honeymoon, and she picked out all of the finest things in the house. There's a big garden out back--a proper English lawn. Jonathan will teach you how to play cricket; you'll like that, won't you? Oh, and the view..."

  


Yeah, I got a great view of the whole package that night on the riverbank. Poor kid, standing there shivering, soaked to the skin... all she had on was that thin nightgown. I would have given her my coat if I had one... although I guess that would have been wet too. Anyhow, I was glad those Americans were on the other bank. Me staring, that was one thing. A whole gang of guys looking her over would have made me want to kick their asses clean back to the good old U.S. of A. I'd underestimated her when I'd dismissed her as "not a total loss". The first time I would underestimate Evelyn Carnahan, but not the last. She continued to amaze me, even now.

  


"...I thought if we could dig in the Valley of the Kings we might 'discover' the majority of the treasure there. People would quite easily believe that, especially since the discovery of Tutankhamen in the same area, and the place is positively riddled with tombs that haven't been properly explored. We'll have to get a camera, of course, to record our findings. That can be Jonathan's job..."

  


God, she was smart. I could be pretty sharp myself, sometimes, but I knew I'd have grey hair and a cane before I ever learned to read ancient Egyptian. I had a hard enough time with English, never mind a language that doesn't have any damn vowels and can be pronounced seventeen different ways.

  


"...and none of the staff are any use at all, most of them just run when they see me coming, or pretend they can't understand me when I speak Arabic. It's taken me almost a month to clean up that little mess I made in the library before we left..."

  


I was so far gone it was pathetic. Even the way she said 'library' bewitched me. I may have been in love with her for her brilliance, her defiance, and her ability to create a disaster area almost anywhere she went (the day before, she'd knocked over three stalls in the market while trying to buy a scarf), but just now I was infatuated with her mischievious little nose. The way her smile was just a little bit crooked, giving her a coy look even when she was being completely straight with me. The way she covered her mouth with her hand and squeaked delightedly when I said something that shocked her. That little sashay in her walk, the one that came out only when she thought no one was watching. And the way she moved her... now we were back to the nightgown again. Mmm.

  


"Rick, are you listening?"

  


I managed to wipe the goofy grin off my face. "Hmm? Oh, uh, yeah. Of course I am, honey."

  


Bad move.

  


She stopped walking, her little flower face turned up to mine. "What were we talking about again?" she asked, sweetly.

  


"I--you know, it just flew right out of my head."

  


"Hmm, yes, funny thing, that."

  


"Yeah, funny."

  


But she wasn't laughing.

  


"Hey, I bet you're thirsty--we could go to that tea house you like, with the flowers, and the terrace, and the snooty waiter guys... no?"

  


"Rick, if you can't even pay attention to what I'm saying for five minutes, how are we supposed to spend the rest of our lives together?"

  


Oh, boy.

  


"Look, Evelyn, I got a little distracted, okay? It's not you. I'm just not as good as you are at the whole talking thing." It was true: Evelyn and her brother--Jonathan especially--seemed to have been born with the gift of gab. The two of them had been able to talk their way into Cairo Prison, claiming to be missionaries, and Evelyn had bargained with the warden for my life--and won. My most meaningful conversations usually involved my fists.

  


She slipped her arm through mine, leaning close. Not for the first time, I was struck by how tiny she was. Even in those impractical (and, for Evelyn, downright dangerous) heels she wore. Then she smiled that coy, crooked smile. "Well, why don't you talk for a while, then, and I'll just listen?"

  


Oh, great. Talk about out of the frying pan, into the fire... now I had to come up with something.

  


"What were you thinking about?" she asked. Across my mind's eye flashed the picture of Evelyn in the soaking wet nightgown. I shook my head to clear it. _Don't think about the wet nightie. Don't think about the wet nightie. Don't think about the..._

  


"Swimming," I replied. _Damn it._

  


"Swimming?" she echoed suspiciously.

  


"Yeah. Don't you like to swim?"

  


She folded her arms. "As I said before, I can, when the occasion calls for it. It's not something I particularly enjoy."

  


"Then you're not doing it right. Ever been skinny dipping?"

  


Rather than being shocked, as I had expected, she squeezed my arm and flashed me a cheeky grin. "Sure I have."

  


Not the answer I expected, that was for sure. "Oh yeah?"

  


"Well, only in the bathtub," she admitted.

  


I laughed out loud at that one. "The bathtub."

  


"My own private oasis. Give me a few candles and a good book and I could spend all day in there."

  


Now we were talking. "Enough room for two in your oasis?"

  


"Now, how would I know that, Mister O'Connell?" she inquired demurely.

  


"Maybe I oughta join you some time, and we'll find out."

  


"Well, the weather is lovely this time of year," was her solemn reply.

  


She made a little squeal of protest as I grabbed her around the waist. Shoving me away, she scolded, "Now, none of that! I wanted us to talk, for once!"

  


"For once? Hey. Give me some credit." She gave me a look. "Okay, okay... conversation." After floundering for a couple of seconds, I hit on the perfect subject to get Evelyn going. "Read any good books lately?"

  


She looked excitedly up at me. "I have, actually. You?"

  


Damn. "I... uh... no."

  


The light in her eyes went out again. "Oh," she said softly.

  


I meant the next part as a statement, but it came out more like a polite inquiry. "I... love you?"

  


"You don't sound too certain of yourself, Rick. I don't know, do you?" She made a face.

  


I made one back. "I don't know, do I?"

  


"Well?"

  


"Well?"

  


She folded her arms, shoulders squared, body unbending. "Wellllll?"

  


I grinned. "Baby, you can share my bathtub any time."

  


"Ooooh," she said, glaring at me.

  


  


  


~~

  


* quote altered so as not to reveal plot details.

  



	3. I believe you fought a gallant fight wit...

3.

  


"I believe you fought a gallant fight with the bed sheets and the netting."

  


~~

  


I kicked off all the covers, stretched--toes pointed, arms over my head--and sighed. Loudly. For the past hour or so, I had been hunting Sleep: he was a worthy quarry, eluding me at every turn, disappearing with a start just when my hold on him seemed most certain. I was restless and bored, and the mosquito netting above my bed had long since surrendered its hazy charm.

  


I considered going for a walk, but in my heart of hearts I knew it wasn't safe even during the day, let alone at this time of night. There were groups that would not hesitate to take me hostage, or even kill me, to further their cause. And... why shouldn't they? Their people were starving. They needed food and clean water, they needed medical supplies and doctors, and, most of all, they needed education. This was a nation that had produced one of the world's most advanced civilizations, and one of its most unique cultures. If Britain claimed Egypt's treasures, the least the British could do was to care for Egypt's children. Or better still, give them the resources and the power to care for themselves.

  


Lost in thought, I must have drifted for a moment; I saw, or thought I saw, a shadowy figure slip across my bedroom. It made no sound, and I assumed it was just a trick of the light--until that same light caught the figure's arm, plain as day. Its smooth brown wrist was encircled with a bracelet of lapis and turquoise.

  


I gasped, and the figure turned to face me. It was a man, bare to the waist, dressed in a short white linen kilt and cloth headdress. _Oh, no_, I thought. _No. It can't be. Not now, please..._

  


I shouted, and leaped out of bed... and felt myself being ensnared, trapped, suffocated. A film came over my eyes; I couldn't move or breathe. I thrashed against the attack with every ounce of strength I possessed, but it all seemed to turn back upon me tenfold.

  


The light suddenly came on, and the next sound I heard was that of footsteps upon the floor. It was followed by the last sound on earth I would have expected, given the circumstances: laughter. Rick's laughter. How incredibly, utterly inappropriate, I thought, for him to be chuckling away while I was being assaulted so viciously! And then I realized what had actually happened.

  


I had, of course, forgotten the wretched mosquito netting.

  


"I'll say this for you, Evelyn," he remarked conversationally, plucking me up from the floor and placing me on the bed, "you know how to keep a guy on his toes." He somehow managed to extricate my head and shoulders from the folds.

  


I blew curls out of my eyes. "Thank you," I replied, with as much aplomb as I could muster I lay flat on my back, nightgown and netting wound tightly about my body, shroud-like.

  


"Hang on, honey, almost there." Unravelling the remainder of the filmy cloth from my legs with a dextrous little twist, he continued, "How the hell did you manage... you know what? Never mind." He patted the bed. "Lie down and I'll put it back up for you."

  


"Someone was in my room."

  


"What? Who?"

  


"I don't know!" I exclaimed, frustrated. "It isn't as though I invited him..."

  


He bent over me, examining my bare arms and legs intently. My face suddenly felt very warm as he ran a hand along first one leg, then the other, but his demeanour was brisk and almost businesslike. "Are you okay? If he hurt you, I'll--"

  


"I'm fine, Rick. He never touched me."

  


Having ascertained that I was unharmed, he immediately drew himself up to his full height and did a quick tour of the room, fists balled, eyes wary. A thrill coursed through me in spite of myself: he was very dashing in that moment, clad only in the loose cotton drawers worn as undergarments by many Egyptians. He barged into my closet, looked under my bed, and strode out onto the balcony, finding no one.

  


"Why didn't you lock your door?" he demanded roughly.

  


My cheeks stung. I hadn't locked it because my mind had been on other things. Wedding plans, mostly. "I don't know how he got in or what he was doing here. Maybe he unlocked the door when he left," I suggested.

  


Rick threw open the door and thrust his head out into the hallway. "What did he look like?"

  


"He was... he looked... he was about your height, slim, dark-skinned, and... dressed like an ancient Egyptian," I blurted. I didn't want to alarm him, but there seemed no other way to say it.

  


Rick's clenched fists relaxed, and he turned to regard me with a look of such tender concern that I knew what he would say even before he did.

  


"It was NOT a dream," I added. "I saw him."

  


"Evelyn..."

  


"No, Rick! I know what I saw!"

  


Just then, Jonathan ambled in from the adjoining room. He wore silk pajamas, and was barefoot, the knuckles of one hand grinding his eye like a sleepy child. "The bloody hell's going on?" he demanded. "If you two are going to have little midnight assignations, that's all well and good, but couldn't you at least be quiet? My reputation may not be worth the paper it's printed on, but I had the impression that you had a bit more of a... social sort of... er, um, thing, sis."

  


"Oh, do shut up, Jonathan," I retorted crossly. I wasn't in the mood for his rambling, which became even more pronounced at times when conciseness was in order.

  


Jonathan took in Rick's tense pose, and minimal attire, combined with my alarmed expression and prone position, and his face changed ever so slightly. "I say, Evie... I hope O'Connell here is behaving himself?" He posed the question with more tact and sensitivity than most people would give him credit for. Despite his numerous other failings, in that moment I couldn't help but admire my older brother.

  


"It's all right, Jon. He came in because I yelled for help."

  


"It's true," affirmed Rick. "She was all tangled up in the mosquito netting."

  


"Well, you would have been, too, if you'd woken up to find a strange man in your room!" I exclaimed.

  


"There's one in my room every night," Rick deadpanned. "Unfortunately, he's my future brother-in-law."

  


Jonathan completely ignored the intended slight, eyes wide. "Evie, are you all right?" 

  


"I'm fine."

  


"That's a relief. I hope you sent the blighter away with a swift kick in the pants, O'Connell."

  


Rick shot me a look, then cautiously replied, "I didn't see him."

  


"Ah."

  


Rick then qualified his statement by adding, "Which might have been because he didn't exist."

  


"Ah," said my brother again.

  


"I saw him!" I repeated stubbornly.

  


"What're you doing up, anyway?" Rick asked Jonathan, as though I hadn't spoken at all. "I thought you were sleeping one off."

  


Completely unembarrassed by the allegation, Jonathan dismissed it with a wave of his hand. "No, no no no. I was exhausted, my good son--completely knackered. All the, you know, adventure, and whatnot. Eh? But then I rolled over the wrong way," he explained, rubbing at his shoulder. The ugly wound was beginning to fade, but he'd probably carry a lifelong reminder of the scarab that had burrowed into his arm and very nearly killed him. "Think I might just wander down to the bar for a touch of anesthetic. Care to join me, old chap?"

  


Rick shook his head. "Nah."

  


"Right-o. I'll just leave you to it, then, shall I?" Jonathan reached over and tweaked my ear smartly with his good hand. "Sleep tight, old mum. Let O'Connell here tuck you in, like a good little girl."

  


With that, my brother turned on his heel and made his exit. I narrowed my eyes at his retreating form.

  


Rick, meanwhile, had clambered up onto the bedside table and was working at getting the netting back into place. Left in silence to consider recent events, I was forced to concede that in the cold light of reason, my ghostly intruder began to seem more and more like the product of my overwrought imagination.

  


"I'm sorry I woke you," I muttered, embarrassed.

  


"You didn't," he replied. "I couldn't sleep. I was trying to decide whether to come in here and wake you up, or just punch your brother in the stomach."

  


"Why would you do that?"

  


"You've known him your whole life and you can't think of an answer to that?"

  


I laughed. "No, really, what's he done now?"

  


Rick shrugged. "He snores. It's loud. Gets on my nerves."

  


"I'm sorry, darling. But it won't be for too much longer, you know that."

  


"Yeah, I know." The table creaked as he stepped down. "There, good as new." He folded his arms across his broad chest, smiling proudly. I got another little thrill, sharper than the first. It must have shown on my face, because he asked, "What's wrong?"

  


I passed a hand over my eyes and settled down into bed. "I'll be all right."

  


"I know that. But that wasn't what I asked you."

  


"Rick, I'm fine." I'd come over quite strange all of a sudden. My heart was pounding so fast and so heavily, I could swear the front of my nightshirt was trembling. I held my breath, torn between wanting him to stay and wishing he would go. "I'm just... tired."

  


"Okay." I have to give him credit, in that he knew better than to argue with me. "Just yell if you need me."

  


"I will."

  


"Okay."

  


"All right. Good night," I prompted.

  


He turned to leave.

  


"Rick--"

  


He pivoted on his heel, wheeling back around to face me. The moment I saw his face, I knew: he didn't want to leave any more than I wanted to send him away. But I had to... didn't I?

  


"Rick," I whispered, my throat suddenly dry as the desert itself. "Stay."

  


When he finally spoke, his voice seemed to rumble up from somewhere around the soles of his feet. "Evelyn..."

  


"Please."

  


"Look, I can't do this with you, okay? I can't just lie there and hold you and not..." he gestured inarticulately for a moment, "not... be with you. I can't--"

  


"You don't have to," I blurted. "Just stay, and... stay."

  


He said nothing, but watched me so intently I thought I might burst into flame under the heat of his gaze.

  


"I need you, Rick," I told him. I felt foolish saying it--rather like a silly, empty heroine of the type usually found in books and moving pictures--but it was the truth. I sat up in the bed and extended both my hands to him, only then becoming conscious of how rapidly and shallowly I was breathing.

  


He took a step forward, transfixed.

  


And stopped.

  


And swore.

  


"What?" I asked, climbing out of bed. The electric current that had passed between us now dissipated.

  


"I stepped on something sharp. I..." He hobbled to a nearby chair, sat down, and pulled his bare foot up to examine it. "Jeez. Sorry, Evie. Talk about killing the mood."

  


"It's all right," I told him, a bit disappointed, but somewhat relieved to be feeling like myself again. "Let's have a look." I knelt by him to examine the sole of his foot. Sure enough, it was bleeding copiously. I snatched up the closest makeshift bandage to hand--in this case, one of my handkerchiefs. "That's a nasty little cut... what on earth could you have trod on?"

  


It was a rhetorical question, but Rick provided an answer by pointing and grunting wordlessly, yet emphatically. I slid over to the object, picked it up--and very nearly dropped it again, as a shock ran through me.

  


"What is it, one of your damn earrings?" he demanded irritably.

  


"No."

  


I held the tiny object up so that he could see it more clearly. Rick cursed under his breath.

  


It was a delicately carved bead, a trinket, of a sort that had not been worn in this area for thousands of years. Part of a piece of ancient Egyptian jewellery. More importantly, it was proof that my phantom intruder had not been a figment of my imagination.

  


A mood-killer, indeed.

  


  



	4. I am not in a position to state, unequiv...

4.

  


"I am not in a position to state, unequivocally, what the aim of an animated mummy might be."

  


~~

  


It didn't take me long to find Jonathan. He was in the hotel bar, just like he said he'd be--and even if he hadn't said it, that would have still been the first place I looked. I surgically removed him from the bottle he'd bought, and we went upstairs. He didn't feel like coming, but I didn't feel like explaining, so in the end I just grabbed him by the collar and hauled his ass all the way back to the sitting room.

  


I guess I should probably have put some clothes on before I went downstairs to get him. It would be safe to say that I made a scene. But I wasn't exactly thinking about how things were going to look--I was more concerned about making sure we were all okay, and getting us all assembled in one place so we could decide what to do next.

  


Evelyn was waiting for us. She'd gotten dressed while I was gone--in one of her starchiest outfits. She'd put her hair up, and her glasses were perched on her forehead. Full scholar mode. Her way of taking charge of a situation. But her hands fluttered around like nervous butterflies whenever she didn't have them pinned in her lap, and I'd seen her go white as a sheet when she got a good look at the little piece of glass I found on the floor. She might be able to sell Jonathan on thinking she wasn't scared, but I wasn't buying.

  


"Someone's been pawing through my drawers," she announced as I shoved her brother into the nearest available seat. Now it was my turn to be unnerved. Jonathan shot me an accusing look.

  


"I never touched her, I swear!" I protested.

  


"_Oooooh_. My _dresser_ drawers, idiot." She was all pink, but because she was annoyed, not embarrassed. When Evelyn gets focused on a topic, she doesn't stop for anything--and she can't stand it when people don't pay attention. "After you left, I got up to get dressed, and found that my clothes had been muddled about. I assume neither of you would have any reason to go in there..." Her gaze was fixed on Jonathan. She kept him on a fairly tight leash as far as money was concerned, but I didn't think even he would stoop so low as to steal from his own little sister.

  


"No reason at all," Jonathan assured her.

  


"In that case, we can only assume that whoever was in my room was after something."

  


"I just bet he was after something," I growled.

  


"Hang on a moment," Jonathan said, holding up both hands for silence. Then, once he had it: "Someone was in your room, Evie?"

  


"Oh, for heaven's sake, Jonathan!" Evelyn stood up, stamping her booted heel on the carpet, and threw her hands in the air in exasperation. "Do try to keep up! Yes, someone was in my room. Tonight. Possibly... possibly an ancient Egyptian someone."

  


Jonathan blinked furiously. "Not this bloody nonsense again..." He turned to me, bleary-eyed. "O'Connell...?"

  


I shrugged. "Sorry. She's for real. We found something on the floor. A piece of glass."

  


"_Tjehnet_," Evelyn corrected. "Faience, we call it. It's made with natron and sand."

  


"Which would make it... glass," I muttered.

  


She turned it over in the palm of her hand, ignoring my comment. "It looks like New Kingdom work. I've no way of knowing whether it's authentic, but--"

  


"But, either way, it wasn't something any of us put there," I said. Just in case it wasn't obvious to all concerned. "Now I say, we get all our gear together, and we amscray. Put as much distance between us and whatever the hell this is as possible."

  


"Oh, absolutely, O'Connell, old chap," agreed Jonathan. "I am behind you one hundred percent." No doubt because he owed money to someone with very large friends. We both looked expectantly at the woman who was the light of my life. And we weren't disappointed.

  


"No."

  


"Evelyn--"

  


"No," she repeated, more emphatically. "Ghosts don't leave beads and things just lying about for us to find, you two. And they don't run away when one sees them. And they certainly don't go through one's drawers in the middle of the night. Just because of what happened at Hamunaptra, doesn't mean I'm going to allow myself to be victimized by some--some clever burglar, or something, playing on thousands of years of superstitions, and scaring me half to death just so he can pinch my jewellery!"

  


I could tell there was no use in trying to persuade her. She must have been pretty worked up, to admit the guy scared her. Jonathan, however, either didn't see it or refused to give up.

  


"But, Evie, old mum, I should think that you, of all people..."

  


Then she turned those big, beautiful eyes on me. They were so dark now they almost looked black. I knew that I couldn't let her down--that I had to stand behind her on this one.

  


"We might as well try to get some sleep," I said. "Whatever he was doing here, I don't think he'll be back tonight." Evelyn rewarded me with a thin smile. Teasing her, I added, "The sight of you wrapped up in all that netting would have sent me running for the hills, too."

  


Evelyn crinkled her nose at me in that cute way she had. "The pair of you can do what you like," she declared. "I am going back to bed."

  


"G'night," Jonathan and I responded, in unison.

  


Once she was safely in her room, I flopped down on the sofa where she'd been sitting. Jonathan didn't move from the armchair, but passed one hand over his eyes and yawned loudly.

  


"She's mad as a hatter," he said, to no one in particular. "Crazy as a loon. Absolutely and completely off her nut. Pottier than--"

  


"Probably runs in the family."

  


"Now, see here, my beamish boy... I resent that. I want nothing to do with any of this, I want to go home."

  


I sat up, gave him a look. "I thought you were hell-bent on finding treasure."

  


"Yes, well, we've found it, haven't we? I've had all the adventure I can bloody stomach. I want to be home, in my own flat in London, in my own bed, and right now, the last person in the world I want to wake up next to is you--no offense."

  


I grunted something that could probably pass for "Thanks."

  


"If it's any consolation, I suspect my sister feels rather differently about the matter."

  


"I'll sleep out here. You can snore as loud as you want, and she doesn't have to worry about her reputation."

  


Jonathan seemed embarrassed. "O'Connell, old man, I didn't mean any--"

  


"Nah." I waved away whatever he apology he was about to offer. "I won't sleep anyway." I nodded in the direction of Evelyn's bedroom door. I couldn't sleep, knowing she might not be safe.

  


Jonathan nodded. "Right." He got up and walked over to the door that connected to our room, then turned back to me. "O'Connell... Rick..." He made the same vague, fluttery kind of gesture with his hands that Evelyn had done earlier. It was the first time I'd seen any kind of similarity between them, even a small one. "I don't know if you knew, but I've been all the family Evie's had in the world since she was fifteen."

  


"Yeah, she told me." I knew the whole story: how Jonathan had washed out of Oxford, leaving Evelyn to restore the tarnished Carnahan family honour; how he had drifted into amateur archaeology, lured more by the promise of wealth than the possibility of new discoveries; how he'd eventually destroyed his credibility as an excavator by selling his finds to private collectors, rather than reporting them to the museum. Still, he was her big brother, and she loved him.

  


"Now, I know I haven't been the best... anything, really." He shrugged helplessly. "You know, role model and all that rot. Haven't got the head for it, or the stomach. I know you won't believe this, but I've tried. I have. Still and all, it's a bloody miracle she turned out the way she did, and I... well." He scratched his head, searching for the right words. "I'm not going to take credit for that. She's worked herself ragged to get to where she is. But what I'm trying to say... very inarticulately, I might add... is that Evelyn is the one thing of value that I've been given, that I've managed to hang onto. And, even though I'll probably never say it while I'm sober, if I've got to give her up, old chap, I'm glad it's to someone who's going to take care of her. Love, and cherish, and... what have you. And you'd damned well better, is all I've got to say."

  


"I... uh... thanks, Jonathan." I've never been good at coming up with the right thing to say at moments like that. Hell, an alcohol-soaked Brit whose favourite word was "thing" had outclassed me, and I think we both knew it at that point. "I will take care of her," I told him. "As much as she'll let me."

  


As quickly as it had come over him, Jonathan's sentimental mood seemed to fade. "Jolly good show," he said briskly. "Right. Off to bed for me." And that was it. Our little man-to-man talk was over.

  


It was weird, to think that suddenly I was going to be part of their family. Just like that. Evelyn would be my wife; Jonathan would be my brother-in-law. Hell of a thing. I'd never had a family before. Never knew them, never wanted to. I did fine on my own. I knew a few guys well enough to drink with, and I knew plenty of women who were soft on me when I needed that kind of attention. I hadn't even realized I was lonely until I met Evelyn. But after that, it was like... like being without her would be too much to handle.

  


I loved her so much that it scared me sometimes. Everything that happened at Hamunaptra had made me realize that, even though I barely knew this girl, there wasn't anything I wouldn't do for her. I'd never felt that way about anyone before. I was used to always looking out for number one. Not caring whether I got killed--being the big hero--that was a new thing for me.

  


I nearly jumped through her door when I heard the crash. Nearly, but not quite, because this time she'd locked it like she was supposed to. I hit the door running, and, though I didn't break it down, I definitely made an impression.

  


"Evelyn!" I yelled.

  


"Just a min-ute!" she called back, in a high, sing-song voice. I waited. A few seconds later, I heard the key click in the door, and rushed into the room.

  


She hadn't bothered to get changed back into her nightgown, but instead had just stripped down to her slip and taken the pins out of her hair. She looked careless, gorgeous. And she didn't seem to be in any danger, as far as I could tell.

  


"Are you okay? What happened?"

  


Evelyn examined her bare toes, then peeked up at me through a mess of curls. She chewed her lower lip.

  


"What is it?"

  


"I was, er, trying to put a bit of netting back into place, and I fell off the--it's not funny!" she exclaimed.

  


I tried, and failed, to keep a straight face. "Uh, yeah, it is."

  


"No, it's not!" After a pause, she cracked up. "Oh, all right. I suppose it is rather amusing. Although it hurts like blazes." She rubbed her backside. "I'm going to be all bruised tomorrow."

  


I would have offered to kiss it better, but I wasn't sure how that would go over. So I said nothing.

  


"I'm sorry I scared you, Rick," she whispered.

  


"Me? Nah." I grinned so wide I must have been showing most of the teeth I owned. "Pure coincidence. I was breaking into your room anyway. You know, to ravish you."

  


She didn't smile, but there was a mischievous glint in her eye. "A fate worse than death?"

  


"Don't knock it till you try it." I pulled her in for a kiss.

  


"Unhand me, brute!" Evelyn cried. I let go, and she fell back onto the bed in a pretend faint. "All right, then, you villain!" she gasped, one arm thrown across her eyes. "Do your worst!"

  


"Um... right."

  


She sat up on the bed, and shot me an annoyed look. "When was the last time you went to the pictures?" she demanded.

  


"That would be never."

  


"Ah. That explains it. We'll have to go when we get home. I think you'd enjoy it--Jonathan loves them." She hugged her knees to her chest, the barely-there slip riding up even further. The more we were around each other, the less attention she paid to her modesty--or lack of it. Evelyn was funny that way. She played the part of a prude, until you got to know her better. Or until you got her good and drunk.

  


"Well?" she inquired.

  


"Well, what?"

  


"I thought you were going to have your evil way with me."

  


I shrugged. "Maybe I don't feel like it anymore."

  


She hit me with a pillow, which, I'll admit, I deserved. Then she lay back down, yawned, and stretched, languorous, cat-like. It was sexy as hell. "In that case..." she began, then trailed off and closed her eyes. I started to say something, then stopped. She needed her sleep.

  


I lifted her up off the bed. She weighed next to nothing, so it was child's play to peel back the covers with one hand and hold her cradled against my chest with the other. I had her tucked in within moments. She barely stirred. Not even when I climbed into bed beside her. I told myself it would just be for a few minutes, just until she warmed up a little, but I lied.

  


And so I was there, just before dawn, when she woke, quietly crying.

  


I _hate_ it when she cries.

  


"Shh, Evie," I whispered. "Baby, shh. It's okay. I'm here."

  


"It was all my f-f-fault," she stammered, swallowing sobs. "Everyone who died..."

  


"Hey, come on. You know that's not true."

  


"I wanted to go to Hamunaptra... I wanted to read from the book."

  


"You wanted to explore, not find treasure."

  


"But I did want to find treasure," she confessed miserably. "I wanted something that would make the Museum sit up and take notice of me. I wanted to make the Bembridge Scholars salivate at the thought of accepting me. I'm not as noble as I sometimes make out, you know," she added, charmingly honest. She seriously believed I didn't already know that was what she thought, when in fact I loved her more because of it. She was more noble than anyone I'd ever met.

  


"You didn't tell those guys to open the chest. They did that on their own. And we fixed it. We sent Imhotep back where he belongs. That's the important thing."

  


"Have we, though?" she whispered, getting right to the heart of the fears neither of us wanted to admit.

  


"Yeah," I replied, with a confidence I wasn't sure I had. "I think you were right when you said it was just a creative burglar who went through your drawers. Kinda makes me wonder how many other guys have been in there that I don't know about," I quipped.

  


Her face was against my chest, but I felt her smile. "Jealous, darling?" she murmured.

  


"Tell me who they were, I'll kill 'em." I completely ruined the impact of this statement by yawning.

  


Evelyn sniffled daintily and wiped her eyes with her hand. "Have you been here the whole night?" she asked.

  


"No, just the part of it after I got into bed with you."

  


"Oh, very funny." She gave me a nudge. "You'd better go back to your own room."

  


"Evelyn, no one gives two flying... no one cares if I spend the night here. Your brother doesn't care. The hotel staff doesn't care." I yawned again, and stretched. I'd noticed lately that showing off a little muscle sometimes added to my arguments--which was reassuring, since it meant she wasn't completely immune to me. "Anyway, don't you want me to stay here, in case you have another nightmare?"

  


"I'll be fine." She nudged me again. "Please, Rick."

  


"All right, all right, I'm going," I grumbled, easing out from between the warm sheets. The air was still cool, enough to wake me up for real. "First decent sleep I've had since I met you, and you're determined to ruin it for me."

  


"If Jonathan snores, just kick him out," she suggested. "He's no stranger to a hard floor."

  


I grinned. "I might just do that."

  


"Good night, my love."

  


"Good morning, you mean." The sky outside her window had lightened noticeably while we talked. With my luck, Jonathan would find me sneaking out of her room, and want to have another little brotherly chat with me. At least twice during the night, I'd caught him being downright respectable. If I was going to get any sleep, I would have to hope it wasn't becoming a habit.

  


Snug in her nest of covers, Evelyn smiled up at me. "Off you go, then."

  


I leaned in and kissed her then, soundly and thoroughly. I kissed her like it was the last time we'd ever see each other, like I'd wanted to on all those long, cold nights in the desert. And then, just when she was beginning to get warmed up to the idea of my staying, I stood up and said good night. When I left, she wasn't looking quite so smug.

  


I was feeling pretty pleased with myself, strutting across the sitting room and into the bedroom I shared with Jonathan. Between the little sleep I'd had, and the goodbye kiss, I was kind of fog-brained, so it took me a few seconds to realize there was anything wrong. When I did, I felt my stomach clench into a tight little knot. Our room was always messy, but I didn't remember it being this messy. The dresser drawers had been dumped out on the floor; Jonathan's suits and shirts were all over the place. My stuff, what little there was of it, was spread out on the bed, including my gunnysack. I may be a slob when it comes to my clothes, but I always know where my guns are. And even Jonathan knew better than to mess with me on that score. No, something was definitely wrong.

  


"Jonathan?" I called, pulling one of my pistols out of the sack and checking to make sure it was loaded. I couldn't see him, but Jonathan was pretty good at hiding. Apparently, when they were kids, he used to hide around the house and scare the hell out of little Evie. "Come on, Jonathan, it's me..." Nothing. In sheer frustration, I picked up one of the pillows and launched it across the room. It hit the wall with a _whomph!_ and I didn't feel any better for my trouble. Then I spotted what the pillow had been covering, and the knot in my stomach tightened into a stone and sank down to my feet. The stain was only about the size of my fist: the outer edges of it were already drying to a rusty brown, but the bright bloom of red in the centre was unmistakable.

  


Suddenly, snoring didn't seem like such a bad option.

  


  



	5. These people would steal their grandmoth...

_Author's note: we don't actually know--at least according to the film, when last seen--the difference in Jonathan's and Evelyn's ages. I looked up the actors' respective ages, considered the dynamic of their relationship, and decided to give them a nice round 10 years. If you would like to protest, feel free to e-mail me: orsongirl at hotmail dot com. ;) Also, the pistol described in the following scene is a Walther Model 3 handgun; what I know about guns could be written on the head of a pin, so I looked it up and did the best I could. :)_

  


5.

  


"These people would steal their grandmothers and sell them if there were a market for decrepit old ladies."

  


~~

  


When my brother was fifteen and I was five, he fell out of a tree trying to get my doll, Reshwet. (He _was_ the one who'd thrown her up there. I love Jon, but heaven knows he's no saint.) He took a tumble from a height equal to a second-story window, hitting just about every branch on the way down. He got up afterwards, battered and bruised, nose bleeding copiously, but otherwise undamaged. When he was seventeen, he had his first driving accident, and by twenty, he'd added two more to his curriculum vitae. Again, no serious injuries. There was, as I recall, a disastrous dunk in the Cher one summer, while punting with his friends from school. He cracked his head soundly, but somehow managed to keep conscious and afloat long enough for his friends to drag him back into the boat. His life had been threatened on more than one occasion by various "chaps" of his acquaintance, to whom he owed sizeable sums of money, but he'd always been able to talk his way round them. And then, of course, there was our recent series of encounters with the undead.

  


Despite all the odds, Jonathan had emerged from childhood and adolescence--both his, and mine--relatively unscathed. He'd been born with more than his fair share of what my father used to call the devil's luck. Oh, he'd been knocked about a bit; he'd had his bells rung, as he liked to put it, more than once. But to me, he'd always seemed, if not infallible, somehow... indestructible. Sometimes down, but never out. Few impressions formed in childhood are practical, but some of them are incredibly enduring. Seeing that bloodstain on the sheet--right where his head would have lain--terrified me.

  


I immediately took charge of the situation. One of us had to, and having a tentative plan of action kept the hot, sick feeling in the pit of my stomach from rising. Before we could go haring off into the teeming city, with guns blazing (which was Rick's inclination), we had to figure this thing out properly.

  


The first thing I did was find the nearest steward, and demand information about anyone who might have been seen with my brother. It would have been easy enough to smack Jonathan on the head while he slept and drag him out of the room, unconscious and unresisting--even people who knew him wouldn't ask questions if they saw him slumped against some stranger's shoulder. They'd simply assume he was drunk. But nobody could recall seeing anyone with him, apart from when Rick had been down to the hotel bar and dragged him off. That bit, everybody remembered, thanks to Rick's pernicious lack of modesty. The only other thing they were able to tell me did not bode well: apparently the floors had had to be cleaned early in the morning, due to several patrons complaining about a trail of droplets of blood leading down the hall to our room.

  


Whoever had taken Jonathan was obviously after something--something we would have kept hidden, assuming we possessed it. Most of the Hamunaptra treasures had already been sent on to our home, in the trunks Jonathan had arranged passage for. I telephoned and double-checked to make sure that those were safely on their way; I was assured that they were. The rest of the treasures, the most precious and delicate of the lot, were locked in my suitcase, under my bed. I'd hesitated to tempt Jonathan by putting any within easy reach. I quickly ascertained that everything was still where I'd left it.

  


When I returned to the sitting room, Rick had spread his gunnysack out on the table. He was perched on the edge of the settee, elbows resting on his knees, meticulously cleaning and oiling one of his many guns.

  


I am by no means a squeamish person, but I will say quite candidly that guns make me very uneasy. My dislike for them does not, as certain people have suggested, have anything to do with the fact that I am prone to occasional bouts of falling over repeatedly. Nor does it stem from my having been raised as a delicate, sheltered flower. I wasn't, believe me. I'd been around guns while growing up; our father couldn't be bothered with them, but Jonathan was always being invited to shooting parties and fox hunts and silly masculine activities like that.

  


Quite simply, there is no _good_ use for a gun. It isn't like a hammer, or something, that can be used as a weapon and also a tool. And it isn't like a blade, something you can use to parry an attack from someone who comes at you. A gun is designed and constructed with one purpose only: to kill. Which is something I'd just as soon have nothing to do with.

  


He looked up, body tensed for action, when he heard me enter. A soldier, too, is designed with one purpose in mind. To seek out and destroy the enemy. Rick knew this was a part of his past that troubled me. But I was glad to have him there, just the same. I would need his strength.

  


"None of it's been touched," I told him. I picked up my purse and headed for the door. "I'm going back down to use the telephone again."

  


"What for?"

  


"I'm going to telephone the police."

  


"I wouldn't," Rick answered, maddeningly calm. He was in full soldier mode now, fazed by nothing.

  


"And why not?"

  


He shot me a look. "You know why not. They won't do anything. They've got their hands full. And you and your brother are British, which makes you not exactly the Cairo Police's favourite people right now."

  


I had nothing to say to that. He was right.

  


"Besides," he added, "who was the last person seen roughing Jonathan up in the hotel bar?" He jabbed a thumb in the direction of his own chest.

  


"But..." The room blurred momentarily, as I realized how things would look to an impartial observer. If I claimed Rick had been with me the whole night, all that did was render my motives rather suspect--particularly if it came to light during an investigation that the three of us had recently come into a large quantity of unreported gold.

  


"I was thinking," Rick continued, performing some complicated maneuver with the back end of the shotgun he was working at. "What about that necklace he gave you?"

  


"What, this?" I pulled the amulet out of my blouse.

  


"You were wearing it all night? You never took it off?"

  


"You were there," I reminded him. "You don't think..." But he did. So did I. I'd even asked Jonathan about it. "He told me he didn't steal it," I protested weakly.

  


"Yeah, and he also told me you two were missionaries," was Rick's blunt reply. He held out his hand, palm up. "Take it off. I don't want anything around your neck that might be worth more to someone than your head."

  


I bristled at his tone of command, but now was not the time to have that discussion. "You don't think they'll hurt him, do you?" I undid the chain from the back and placed my brother's wedding present carefully in Rick's hand. "I mean, not... not seriously?"

  


He looked at me for a moment. I could tell he wanted to say no, to reassure me. "I don't know, Evie," he admitted. "Depends why they took him. I mean, if they just wanted this thing," he hefted the amulet, "they could have woken us up and forced us to give it to them."

  


"But if what they wanted was something else--like information... Rick! Before we left, I know Jonathan was boasting that he was going to find Hamunaptra. I tried to keep him quiet, but I wasn't with him every second..."

  


"Yeah. When it gets a little darker, I'll check out his usual haunts, follow up this amulet thing. Since it's the only lead we have. And I'll find out if anyone heard him talking about our little trip."

  


We both knew perfectly well that he didn't have the patience to get that sort of information out of people without resorting either to physical violence or the threat of same. "I'll go with you," I told him.

  


"No. You won't."

  


_We shall see about that,_ I thought, but let it stand for the moment.

  


Rick was examining the pistol in his hand with a grim expression. "Okay, c'mere."

  


"What for?"

  


"I'm gonna teach you how to use this."

  


"Oh, no, you're not."

  


He looked at me as if I were completely cracked. 

  


"I'm not going anywhere near it. They make me nervous, Rick."

  


"Evelyn..." He stood up and took a step towards me. I took a step back. He came forward, and I retreated again, jumping when I slammed into the sideboard.

  


"I--I mean it," I asserted.

  


"I'll be more comfortable leaving you alone if you have this. And I'm not giving it to you until you know what you're doing. Now, come here."

  


I took a tentative step in his direction.

  


"It won't bite you." He put his arm around my shoulders, drawing me close. "The safety is on. You can't shoot anything. Here."

  


I held out my hand, and allowed him to mold my fingers around the handle of the gun. I hefted it in my hand. It was small, felt cool and hard, and was heavier than I'd expected. What terrified me was, its weight was reassuring. Even comfortable. I could see myself, deadly cool, pointing this scary thing at someone and firing. Not now, perhaps, but in the future.

  


"You get six shots," Rick was explaining. "You cock it, like this--" he demonstrated how to work the slide-- "and you take the safety off." He pointed to a small lever, next to which was an engraved letter F. "When the F is covered, you can shoot. When it isn't, you can't. See?"

  


"F for fire," I said, slowly, like a child learning to read.

  


"Yeah. F for fire." He smiled down at me. "Then you just squeeze the trigger--squeeze, don't pull."

  


I shuddered.

  


Rick showed me how to load the gun, how to clean it, and how to aim using the sight. I was ready to be sick by the time we were through. It must have shown on my face, because he hastened to reassure me.

  


"You probably won't have to shoot anyone, Evie. Just the threat of a gun is enough to make 'em back down."

  


"I hope you're right." I held the pistol out to Rick, who immediately grabbed my arm and forced it upwards.

  


"Safety," he growled. "And don't point it at anyone you're not planning to shoot."

  


"Oh. Right." I flicked the lever back into its proper position. "Sorry." I tried again to pass him the gun, but he wouldn't take it.

  


"That's yours. Put it in your bag or something."

  


Shame-faced, ears burning, I dropped the gun into my purse. If there's one thing I absolutely hate, it's being made to feel ignorant, and Rick had schooled me pretty thoroughly. He went back to checking his weapons, and I sat down in the armchair opposite him.

  


"I _am_ going with you," I told him quietly.

  


He didn't raise his voice, didn't even look up from what he was doing. "I said no."

  


"Well, I said yes," I countered. "You are not my lord and master, Richard O'Connell, however much you may like to think that you are, and I will do as I choose, no matter what you have to say about it!" I hadn't intended to shout, but the more I thought about it, the angrier it made me. He had no right to give me orders, or to cloister me in the hotel room as though I were a child or an imbecile.

  


He looked up at me. His eyes were all ice and steel. Was this the same man I'd invited to share my bed only last night? It didn't seem possible. "I'll lock you in your room if I have to," he told me calmly.

  


"You will not!"

  


"Yeah, I will."

  


"Then I'll climb out the window and follow you!" I informed him. 

  


"We're two stories up."

  


"Then I'll shoot the lock off the door! I've seen you do it."

  


His voice was still soft and low, but alarm and frustration began to show on his face. "You'll shoot your foot off trying..."

  


"I don't care! Jonathan needs my help, and so do you--whether or not you choose to admit it."

  


"You wanna help me? You can start by staying here and not getting your damn self _killed_!" he roared.

  


"Don't you swear at me!"

  


"I'll swear whenever the hell I feel like it!"

  


With no warning whatsoever, I burst into tears. Just burst, out of nowhere, like a dam breaking. It wasn't something I'd intended--in point of fact, it was probably the last thing on earth I would have done at that moment if I'd had the choice. I hated to be thought of as a weak, helpless female, and yet, given the opportunity, I acted exactly like one. "Rotten, foul-mouthed bastard!" I screamed, tears streaming down my face.

  


For a moment, Rick simply gazed at me, his expression one of mingled anger and surprise. Then he stood up, and without a word, put both arms around me.

  


"He's my brother," I sobbed. "He's all the family I have in the world. And someone's taken him away. They could be hurting him right now. I can't just... sit here, doing nothing..." I sniffled into Rick's shoulder. "Don't let's fight any more. Please." My nerves simply couldn't handle any more confrontation at that point. And it wasn't really Rick I was angry with, to be perfectly honest. If I hadn't asked him to stay the night before--if I'd done as I should have, and insisted that he go back to his own bed--he would have been there to protect Jonathan. I couldn't help but feel awful. The entire wretched mess was my doing.

  


"I didn't mean to yell at you," he told me. "It's just that... I mean, you... Evelyn, you're all _I've_ got." He squeezed me tighter, so tightly I could barely breathe, let alone move. "And sometimes you're so... stubborn... look, I'm not trying to put you in your place or anything. I'm not that stupid. I just worry about you. If anything happened to you, I'd never forgive myself."

  


"You've got until midnight," I told him. "If you haven't reported back by then, I'm going to come looking for you."

  


He nodded. "Deal."

  


He relaxed his grip on me a bit, and I heaved a sigh. "Well, while you're gone, I'm going to call the consulate, see if there isn't anything they can do to help."

  


"Okay."

  


"And I'm going to find out if he spoke to anyone in the bar last night."

  


"Good idea."

  


"And... and you be careful too." I tilted my head back, rested my chin against his chest, and gave him a watery smile. "If I have to come and rescue you both, I'll be very put out. I might be able to carry Jonathan, but you, I don't think I could manage."

  


He smiled, then bent down and kissed the very tip of my nose. "I'll keep that in mind." Then, more seriously, he added, "I'll find him, Evie. I promise."

  


We held each other a while longer, without speaking, and then I went into his and Jonathan's room so I wouldn't have to watch him leave. I'd decided to sift through the mess on the bed and floor, to see if there was anything we might have missed. It would have helped if Jonathan's room didn't naturally look like a rubbish tip to begin with. Absently, I sorted his shirts into two piles--clean, and dirty--removing sundry articles from the pockets of the latter as I went along. Honestly, if it weren't for me, Jonathan would have tipped his laundry service with a gold-plated cigarette lighter a hundred times over by now. Once the shirts were done, I started on his jackets. The IOUs, which were numerous, I left in a neat little stack on the bedside table. He could attend to them when he came back.

  


_If_ he came back.

  


I chided myself for being so pessimistic. For all we knew, the matter could turn out to be a completely harmless misunderstanding. Well, I thought, eyeing the dried blood on the sheet, maybe not harmless. But there was a possibility that the entire thing was just--

  


My train of thought suddenly derailed at the sound of a crash in the sitting room. Frantically I darted around, looking for my gun... which I had, of course, left in my purse. On the sitting room table. Under my breath, I employed a few words I'd overheard from my brother and Rick, then tentatively opened the bedroom door a tiny crack. No one there as far as I could see. So far, so good. I eased it open a little bit more, and then even further, before heaving a sigh of relief. The sitting room was empty, the curtains of the big picture window stirring placidly in the breeze...

  


...a breeze which entered where a shattered pane of glass had once been.

  


Mouthing a single, anatomically improbable observance that would have made even my legionnaire fiancé blush, I moved carefully among the fragments to pick up the object responsible for breaking the window: a brick. When I turned it over, however, I found a note carefully affixed. Whoever had sent this wanted to be quite certain we received it. I began to breathe shallowly, my heart pounding in my throat. I ran to the window and looked out, but nobody on the street below looked even remotely out of the ordinary. Then again, whoever had thrown the brick could easily have blended in with the crowd. There were plenty of Egyptians who would support a random act of vandalism against a large British hotel.

  


After reading and re-reading the missive, I sank into the nearest chair--then immediately regretted it, as I caught the business end of a shard of glass in an area that shall remain nameless. By the time I'd dealt with that, and the resulting nicks on my fingertips, a plan was already half-formed in my mind. Rick wasn't going to like it, but then again, he wasn't going to have much of a choice in the matter.


	6. A woman's instinct, I always feel, super...

_Author's notes: Thanks to all who have stuck with me so far, and everyone who reviewed, especially Buffelyn, for the beta, and Nefret, who keeps predicting the plot! ;)_

  


  


6.

  


"A woman's instinct, I always feel, supercedes logic."

  


~

  


Jonathan's "friends" at the various local watering holes were even less help than I expected. A bunch of broke, horse-faced, dissipated Brits who wouldn't tell me anything unless I bought them drinks, sucking up to rich, horse-faced, dissipated Brits who were spreading their dough around. Jonathan had gone from one group to the other since we'd come back from Hamunaptra, so he was a popular guy these days. Everyone had something nice to say about him, provided I could pay the fare. I figured when I ran out of money, I would probably have to punch a few people. But I'd burn that bridge when I came to it.

  


Somewhere around the fourth bar I visited, I asked if Jonathan had been up to anything in recent weeks that might have gotten him into trouble.

  


"Yars," said one particular horse-faced, dissipated Brit, Sir Hugo Whatever-Whatever (they all had hyphenated names, I lost track after a while). "Yars. Jonny always had his thumb in some pie or other. Bloody little Jack Horner, eh, what?"

  


"Uh, right." I slapped down enough money for another round, and Sir Hugo's broke friends clustered around, faking sympathy. "Anything in particular he was into recently?" I asked the group.

  


"Since he came back from his little desert excursion, you mean?" Sir Hugo smiled. His teeth and face were similar shades of yellow, and both seemed to be slowly rotting. "I should say not."

  


"Went straight, our Jonny did--though probably not for long, old chap," someone else commented. There were noises of agreement from around the table, and pointed looks at empty glasses.

  


They didn't know anything about the necklace, other than what Jonathan himself had told them: he'd won it in a card game, "nicked" a pretty sheet of paper to wrap it in, and given it to his sister as a wedding present. I guess "going straight" for Jonathan didn't include retiring his sticky fingers.

  


One guy wondered aloud "what sort of whopping bare-faced lie Jonathan would have to tell, to convince some damn fool to marry his crackpot sister." I decided I had more important things to do than smashing his face in, but I got his name and the name of his hotel, in case I had any free time before we left Cairo.

  


Now, I'm not the sharpest tool in the shed, but I would have to have been blind _and_ stupid to miss the kid that was following me as I left in search of the fifth bar. Even in the dimly-lit, crowded streets, he stuck out like a sore thumb, between the second-hand suit and the crooked way he walked. His technique wasn't exactly subtle, either: when I crossed the street, he crossed the street. When I made a complete circle around the block, he was there every step of the way, at my heels like a little dog. _Just goes to show what happens when you send a boy to do a man's job_, I thought grimly. I rounded a corner and slowed down, waiting for him to catch up, prepared to knock him into next week as soon as he did. I reached out and snagged him by the lapel as soon as he trotted past, yanking him around to look up at me. Thought I'd put a good scare into him that way. Well, I guess it worked okay. The face that peered up at me from under the broad-brimmed hat, however, could not possibly have been more shocked than mine.

  


"Evelyn, what the hell--?!"

  


I didn't get any farther than that before she clamped a hand over my mouth, shushing me. Those tiny fingers were surprisingly strong. "Don't be cross," she whispered.

  


"Mmph," I said.

  


"I had to talk to you, and I didn't want to take any chances."

  


"Mmph!" I said again.

  


She let go of my face. "Watch your language," she told me primly. (How did she know, anyhow?) I elected not to mention that she'd called me a bastard about an hour ago. She tends to have a selective memory about stuff like that.

  


"You look really dumb," I told her. "And I spotted you a mile off."

  


"Then why didn't you bloody slow down?!" she demanded, pulling a crumpled piece of paper from some inner pocket. "I've been chasing you for bloody ages!" The borrowed suit seemed to be having a noticeable effect on her way of talking. It was Jonathan's, of course, I could see that now. "I couldn't exactly call after you, could I?"

  


"But why all the..." I gestured to the clothes. I had a sinking feeling I already knew the answer to that one. A woman, after dark, in the kinds of places Jonathan frequented, was a target. Which meant she intended to come with me. Which meant she was coming.

  


She ignored me and shoved the piece of paper in my face. "Look here; after you left, someone threw this through the window."

  


I grabbed it from her. "What were you doing with the window open?" I demanded. "I thought you had more sense than--"

  


"_Ooooooh_. Someone threw it _through_ the window. Attached to a brick."

  


"Oh. You okay?" She didn't look like she was cut anywhere, but with Evelyn you just never knew. With her luck, she'd probably sat on a big chunk of glass.

  


She waggled her fingers, and I saw that three of them and both her thumbs were bandaged. "This is the worst of it, fortunately. Just read the note."

  


I turned my attention to the paper in my hand. It was an illegible scribble; I managed to pick out the words "house", "train", and "terrace"."What the hell is that supposed to mean?"

  


"Oh, that's not it." Evelyn snatched the note away and started turning out her pockets. "This must be the jacket Jonathan was wearing yesterday, when I sent him to--ah-ha!" She came up with an even more mangled piece of paper. "Here."

  


_Mr Carnahan has been verry helpful,_ the new note read, _but he does not hav what we desire. Plez collect him by midnight or he will be kilt._ There was an address written below.

  


I shook my head. "It's gotta be a trap."

  


"Well, of course it's a trap," Evelyn shot back impatiently. "But we have to go anyway."

  


"Excuse me, _we_ do?"

  


"Yes. We do."

  


"I thought _we_ agreed that _you_ were going to stay at the hotel," I said.

  


"No, _you_ agreed to that. I agreed to no such thing."

  


She would have stalked off, but I clamped a hand down on the collar of her brother's suit jacket. It was force of habit, mostly. Evelyn yelped, not being as accustomed to that kind of attention from me as Jonathan was. "Did that brick hit you in the head or something?" I demanded.

  


She glared. "Unhand me, please," she said, each word dripping with icy dignity. When I didn't, she slipped out of the jacket and stood looking up at me in triumph. I couldn't stop her, and we both knew it.

  


I tried to rub away the dull ache at the bridge of my nose. Arguing with Evelyn tends to have that effect on me. "Evelyn, this place--if the address isn't phony--is in a really bad part of town."

  


"Is there a 'good part of town' in Cairo?"

  


"For you, anywhere there's lots of light and plenty of English soldiers. And that's where I want you to stay." Seeing her face get pink, I stopped her before she could really chew me out by adding, "Please."

  


She didn't say a word, just looked up at me.

  


"Pretty please?"

  


Nothing.

  


I sighed. "Did you bring your gun?"

  


"It's in my pocket."

  


"Is it loaded? Is the safety on?"

  


"I'm not an idiot, Rick."

  


I smiled down at her. "I know you're not, honey. But you better ditch that getup. Anyone with half a brain can tell you're a girl." I reached around and gently tugged on one of the curls that was falling down out of her hat.

  


She scowled. "What am I supposed to wear, then?"

  


In the end, she just marched up to a couple of young Egyptian men in the street and politely asked them for their clothes. They obviously thought she was joking, even when she pulled out a gold-plated cigarette lighter and proposed a trade. It must have been Jonathan's, since I knew for a fact that she didn't smoke.

  


You know, when I first met Jonathan and Evelyn Carnahan, what I couldn't figure out was how two people raised by the same parents could have turned out so different. Evelyn was overly principled, to put it mildly, while Jonathan seemed to have been born without a conscience. He'd do anything to get what he wanted. What I didn't realize at the time was that, in that respect at least, he and his sister were exactly alike: once Evie had her heart set on something, nothing in this world or the next was going to stop her until she found a way to get it.

  


I was damn near certain it wouldn't work, but figured I might as well let her give it a shot. You know, just so she could see that life wasn't always like her books and moving pictures. The two guys weren't sure what to make of her. I guess in the end they decided she could afford to be crazy. They stripped down to their drawers and handed her everything, then walked away, shaking their heads and muttering about the strangeness of English women.

  


The proud smile she flashed me as she presented me with the larger of the blue-and-white striped robes reminded me why I fell in love with the little crackpot in the first place.

  


Evelyn slipped her robe on overtop of the borrowed suit, making a few disgusted noises while she did. The previous owner hadn't exactly been a poster boy for personal hygiene. Once she had it on, she pinned her hair back up and I wound the turban tightly round her head. Even with two layers of clothing on, she didn't make a very convincing man. At best, she looked like a very pretty, very European boy playing dress-up. At worst, she was almost painfully feminine, tiny hands and feet peeping out from folds of ragged cotton. Still, she tried, even smearing dirt on her face to darken it up a little. I didn't bother to go that far. I'm not what you'd call an inconspicuous person to begin with. But lots of white guys wore Egyptian clothes--going native, they used to call it. Only sensible thing to wear in the summer, really; kept you cool during the day and warm at night.

  


"Keep your head down," I told her. "Don't talk. And stick close."

  


She did as I asked, lifting her robe daintily as she minced along in front of me. Great. Why didn't she just wear a sign?

  


"It's not a skirt," I said. "Hide your hands in your sleeves. And try to take bigger steps."

  


She let the fabric fall without comment, but as we crossed the street, I noticed that she was walking funny. It was hard to tell, but it looked like she was favouring one leg.

  


"Why are you walking like that?" I demanded.

  


She gave me a look, but said nothing.

  


"Did you hurt your foot or something?"

  


She looked up at me, the picture of wide-eyed innocence. A sure sign that she knew exactly what I meant, but wasn't going to admit it.

  


"Come on, Evie, what's wrong?"

  


She'd probably stepped on a piece of glass back at the hotel, but of course she was too stubborn to let that stop her. I was ready to bet even money that her foot was a bloody mess of bandages. Typical.

  


Exasperated, I growled, "Answer me, dammit!"

  


"You told me not to talk," she retorted.

  


Smartass.

  


"Why were you limping?"

  


"I wasn't limping."

  


"Yeah, you were. You still are," I pointed out. "Take your boots off. We're not going anywhere until you prove that you still have all your toes."

  


"We haven't time for this now," she huffed, shuffling on ahead of me.

  


I could feel the knot at the bridge of my nose tighten.

  


  


The address in the note turned out to be a house--one of a cluster of tumbledown one-room shacks that leaned drunkenly against each other for support. We had to find it by counting, since there weren't any numbers on the doors. Evelyn fought me on it, claiming I'd miscounted, and would have gone back to double-check if I hadn't stood on the hem of her robe. I didn't want her out of arm's reach. The street was deserted, and even the usual low murmur of city-noise seemed somehow muffled. There were no lights in any of the windows. If we yelled for help now, no one would hear. And even if they did, they wouldn't come.

  


I could feel it now--a snap, like a key turning in a lock somewhere inside me. My instincts were kicking in. My heart started to race, and I felt a surge of energy. Usually, in a situation like this, I acted without thinking, relying on my senses to tell me what I needed. If I was on my own, I'd just kick in the door, figure out where Jonathan was, and shoot anyone who tried to get between me and him. If it turned out to be a trap, I'd shoot a lot more people and get the hell out of there.

  


But I wasn't on my own.

  


I thought of telling Evelyn to stay outside and keep watch, but we both knew that wouldn't work. I'd be distracted waiting for her to turn up--which she would, at the worst possible moment. So instead, I turned to her and made a gun out of my thumb and forefinger, motioning for her to pull out her pistol. I readied both of mine, then waited impatiently while she searched the folds of her robe before coming up with her own. She held it with both hands, pointing it away from herself, like I'd showed her before. She was shaking all over.

  


"Ready?" I whispered.

  


Evelyn nodded. Her eyes were round, her face pinched and pale under its coating of dust. She motioned for me to go first. I touched her shoulder, then leaned in and kissed her cheek, regretting it when I tasted dirt.

  


It turned out I didn't even have to kick the door; it fell inward the moment my foot touched it. Inside was pitch black. I peered in, guns ready, waiting for my eyes to adjust--and then, suddenly, the room was illuminated. I tensed, ready to spring into action, but the place was empty. Just a pile of rags in one corner of the room, a bucket in the other, and some papers and junk strewn across the floor. But someone had been here, and recently--there were foot tracks in the dust on the floor. And ominous dark stains.

  


I turned to face the source of the light--and there was Evelyn, holding up the gold-plated cigarette lighter. Gotta give the girl credit, although having a pickpocket for a brother must have helped. The flickering flame made the smudges under her eyes into hollows.

  


"Where is he?" she asked softly. Like I could just snap my fingers and make him appear, or something. "He's got to be here."

  


I shook my head. "They were messing with us."

  


"We're in the wrong house, aren't we?" she demanded. "Ooooh, I knew it! You--"

  


Then the pile of rags moved--and moaned.

  


"Evie...?"

  


"Jonathan!" she shrieked, dropping the lighter and running full tilt across the room. Of course, as soon as the lighter hit the ground, I couldn't see a damn thing. Rather than feeling around on the ground like an idiot, I dug around in my pockets for a match.

  


Once I had light again, I saw, to my surprise, that Evelyn had made it over to where her brother lay without falling over even once. She'd surprised me yet again--the girl must have had eyes like an owl! I heaved a sigh of relief. I would never have thought in a million years that I'd have been that glad to see my future brother-in-law.

  


He'd been lying next to the wall with his back to us, which was probably how we'd missed him the first time. His silk pajamas were dirty and torn--and bloody, in places. The same went for the skin underneath. He'd definitely put up a good fight.

  


"Oh, Jon, what have they done to you?" asked Evelyn. She was trying to hold him still long enough to get a good look at his injuries, but he kept flopping around. It was almost funny to watch them. She was practically sitting on him once she'd ascertained that his legs were all right. She unwound her turban and tried to use it to tend to the ugly welt on the side of his head, but he wasn't having it. "_Will_ you hold still, you silly man... I'm trying to help you, Jonathan, do stop writhing about."

  


Jonathan didn't seem happy to see her at all. In fact, he was almost in hysterics. "Evie, you've got to run, you've got to get out of here before they come ba--AAAAGH!" He flinched, then slumped forward, and I turned on my heel, prepared to fight--only there was no one there.

  


"He's fainted!" Evelyn called from behind me. "Rick, help."

  


I slid one arm around Jonathan and pulled him to his feet, his head lolling against my shoulder. It was a move I was familiar with, by now; more than once, I'd been sent by Evelyn to "fetch" him from this bar or that card game before he got himself into trouble.

  


"It was you," she told me, going around to the other side of him and propping him up. Now that he'd stopped squirming, Evelyn was able to bandage his head properly and make sure he wasn't seriously injured anywhere else. "He saw you, and then he screamed."

  


"Maybe it was something I said," I grunted, handing her the lighter. "Hold this." I threw Jonathan over my shoulder. That way, if we had to run, we weren't struggling to carry him between the two of us.

  


I got as far as the door before a sharp _crack!_ made me shove Evelyn to one side and dive for cover. Everything happened in an eyeblink after that. The light went out. A bullet whined past, punching a hole in the far wall. I could barely make out her shape in the dim light, pasting herself to the wall right of the door. I flattened myself against the wall on the other side. There was nothing in the room that could provide adequate cover if anyone came in after us. And there was nowhere to run.

  


I laid Jonathan on his side, as gently as I could, and reached for my guns. I squinted at Evelyn in the darkness; it was impossible to tell whether she had even managed to hang on to hers in all the scuffling with her brother. I hoped to hell she was armed. If anything happened, I'd never be able to get to her in time--and even if I could, she'd kill me for abandoning Jonathan.

  


A second bullet ripped through the wall and winged my shoulder. I could feel a familiar sticky wetness trickling down my arm. I grunted, but shook the pain off almost immediately. I'd deal with it later.

  


I heard Evelyn give a sharp little cry. She must have seen me take the shot.

  


"Quiet!" I hissed. If we were lucky, they hadn't seen her. No point in giving both our locations away. After a moment, I added, "I'm fine, it's nothing."

  


There were a few more shots, but none of them came close to either of us. Then, from outside, a chorus of voices started yelling in Arabic. There were at least five of them. When I realized what they were saying, I felt a seeping cold work its way through me. My brain suddenly turned to a lump of lead. I couldn't think, I couldn't plan. But I had to.

  


"What are they after?" whispered Evelyn, whose Arabic was limited primarily to 'I am sorry for the mess I have made of your shop'.

  


"I said quiet!" I snapped back. But I knew it was too late--they already knew she was there.

  


_Give us the girl,_ they were saying._ We only want the girl._

  


Well, they'd have to get through me first.


	7. We claim to be rational, but there is a ...

  


_Author's notes: in answer to some reviewer comments, I established in Chapter 1 that Rick does speak Arabic. (See? I **am** thinking ahead, believe it or not. ;)) Fair enough, it's never mentioned in either of the movies, but that ubiquitous TMR "orphanage in Cairo" that I'm never sure what to do with comes into play here. And as you will see, Rick doesn't completely give Evie the linguistic credit she deserves... ;)_

  


  


7.

  


"We claim to be rational, but there is a layer of primitive savagery in all of us."

  


~

  


They were calling something at us in Arabic. If only they'd stop shooting long enough for me to listen! It took what seemed an eternity to discern even a single word, but the word I did understand was telling.

  


_Girl._

  


Meaning, me. It was me they wanted, not Rick or Jonathan. Well, we'd been in this situation before, and we'd come out all right. What were a few men with guns compared to the threat posed by an immortal high priest and his army of undead followers?

  


My brother was injured, and Rick had been shot. If anything happened to either of them because of my cowardice, it would be on my head.

  


"Rick, tell them..." My throat tightened so that I could barely whisper. There wasn't much point in it anyhow, I supposed, since the lot of them knew we were inside. "Tell them they can have me, if they let you and Jonathan go."

  


He swore violently.

  


"Tell them," I implored.

  


He straightened, and turned to me. "I can't," he told me softly.

  


"You've got to."

  


"Evie, I can't!"

  


"I'm here!" I yelled, as loudly as I could manage. "I'll give you what you want without a fight, if you let the others go!"

  


"_Dammit_, Evelyn!"

  


The shooting stopped, as I'd expected. A deep male voice replied, in rapid Arabic. I caught perhaps one word in ten. Something about trust. And shoes, although that couldn't be right.

  


"Rick?"

  


"He doesn't believe you," he reported dully. "He thinks it might be a trick."

  


"Oooh, he's one to talk. The nerve. Speak English, won't you?" I called out. "You may as well! We're not going to play your silly game any longer--we know you're British, you rotters!"

  


Rick did a double-take. "What?!" he demanded in a whisper.

  


"You saw the note. That was not written by a native Egyptian."

  


"But--"

  


"The structure of the sentence was too precise, for one thing. And they misspelled words such as _very_, but managed to get far more irregular words like _does_, _collect_, and _midnight_ bang-on."

  


"But--"

  


"And since the misspellings were obviously deliberate, it suggests that perhaps we were meant to think that the writer was not a native English speaker. From that, one must of course conclude that the writer _is_ a native speaker. Why else would they attempt to mislead us?"

  


Outside, the voice yelled an epithet I happened to know. Rick hollered back, "Oh yeah? So's your mother, jackass!"

  


"Darling, that really isn't helpful," I reminded him gently.

  


In the corner nearest Rick, Jonathan sat up, moaning. "O'Connell?" he inquired. "Evie?"

  


"We're a bit busy at the moment, Jon," I told him.

  


"Well, la-di-da! I'll just pop round another time, shall I?" he huffed. "I thought that, with all the shooting and whatnot going on, it might interest you two gunslingers to know that there is another exit to this place, one that our trigger-happy friends outside don't happen to know about."

  


"Where?" demanded Rick.

  


"Under the floor." For a moment, I thought that the smack in the head had completely addled my brother's brain. The floor was completely solid, packed earth. A trap door, had there been one, would have been glaringly obvious. Then he continued on with, "Over in that corner where I was lying... I'd been digging a hole, you see."

  


"Is it big enough to fit through?" I asked.

  


"Well, sis, it's big enough for you or I to fit through."

  


"That won't work, then." I wouldn't hear of leaving Rick behind, any more than he would have let me sacrifice myself.

  


"Evelyn--"

  


"No, Rick... look, I've got an idea." I yanked the robe off over my head and threw it across the doorway to Rick. A plan was forming in my head, I just needed more time to work it out...

  


_Crack!_

  


Time that we, unfortunately, did not have.

  


"Evie, don't tease the animals," Rick quipped. Before Hamunaptra, I would have chided him for being flippant. But I knew that, at times like this, his sense of humour was what held him together.

  


"Jonathan, put that on." While he was struggling into the robe, I went over the plan in my mind. _It just might work..._

  


Outside, the shouting started up again.

  


"Yes, yes, the girl, we know!" I called irritably. "But not until O'Connell and my brother are safe!"

  


Silence.

  


In a whisper, I continued, "This is what we're going to do. Jonathan, you're going to slip out the back. Once you're out, don't run--walk calmly. They won't suspect you, dressed like that."

  


"Long as you can manage not to walk like a girl," Rick muttered.

  


"Hush up. Your part in all this, Rick, is to be set free. You simply walk out of here with me over your shoulder. They'll assume I'm Jonathan."

  


"Clever girl!" Jonathan's voice was muffled by a layer of cotton. "But, I say, Evie, wouldn't it be better for you to just slip out the back while O'Connell and I--"

  


Rick immediately vetoed this--as I knew he would, which was why I hadn't suggested it. "Forget it. If I have to run, I'd rather be carrying her than you."

  


"Well, whichever way we go about it, it's better than sitting in here, waiting for them to come in and fetch us." My nerves were frayed to the point of exhaustion. I couldn't keep my hands from shaking.

  


Another gunshot punctuated this statement.

  


"Knock it off!" roared Rick. "We said we'd give her to you, and we will!"

  


"Jonathan, are you ready?" I whispered, frantically trying to pin my hair back up.

  


"Ready, sis!" I was suddenly hit in the face with a bundle of soft, sweaty material. Jonathan's pajamas. Well, I supposed if we were going to get away with this, we had better do it properly. I pulled my shirt off over my head. If this sort of thing went on, I reflected, I could have a new career cut out for me as a quick-change artist.

  


"Wish I had that lighter right about now," Rick reflected. I said nothing, but I could feel myself blushing from head to toe.

  


"Watch it, O'Connell. That's my sister you're talking about."

  


"Jonathan, go!" I urged. Partly through sheer force of habit, I went through the jacket pockets once I'd taken it off, removing my pistol and the note. As I unhooked my borrowed suspenders and dropped my pants, I could hear Jonathan scraping and scrabbling in the corner. That would never do--if I could hear it, there was a chance they would too.

  


"Rick--"

  


"Got it covered." He pointed one of his pistols out the door and let fly. The resulting cacophony of shots and shouts was enough to cover the sound of Jonathan's rather noisy escape.

  


As soon as I was ready, I called out, "O'Connell is leaving now, with my brother, but I'm still armed, and you won't be able to come in here until after a count of one hundred. And if either of them is hurt, I assure you, you won't get what you're after." I slipped my shoes off--Jonathan had been barefoot. Rick tossed me his headscarf, and I tied it round my head as neatly as I could.

  


Hands up in the air, so they could see he wasn't armed, Rick crossed in front of the doorway and came to me. "All set?" he murmured.

  


I nodded.

  


He grinned. "I can't believe I'm saying this, but you look awfully cute in that getup." He touched my grimy cheek. "Stay really still, okay?"

  


"I will."

  


"Like, don't move, no matter what."

  


"All right."

  


He kissed me, suddenly, urgently. It lasted only a second, and then I was being lifted up onto his great shoulder. I went limp, letting my arms and head hang down over his back, making certain my face was obscured. I suddenly felt tiny and helpless; I wanted to clutch at his shirt, to steady myself, but I willed myself to remain still... until--

  


"Stop tickling my feet!" I pounded on his back with both hands. "What d'you think you're doing?"

  


"Just checking," was his curt, enigmatic reply.

  


And then we were off. I don't imagine it lasted more than a minute, but to me, unmoving, unseeing, forced to lie motionless over my fiancé's shoulder, it might just as well have been an eternity. He walked agonizingly slowly, to my mind at least. It was almost a relief when the shooting started; at least at that point I could stop pretending and look up to see what was going on.

  


Then there was a sudden flash of blinding light, and everything went black.

  


  



	8. Not wounded, not dying, merely enjoying ...

  


_Author's notes: Okay, okay. I admit that maybe the hole thing in the last chapter was a bit of a reach... although it's not as much of a reach as the dirigible in TMR, so I think I'm safe! ;) I did make it pretty clear that it wasn't a very big hole--big enough for Evelyn, and Jonathan in a pinch, but definitely not Rick. Besides, I think Jonathan, whatever his other faults are, has remarkable self-preservation instincts. ;) Also, I'm sorry to have left all those poor reviewers in suspense--it wasn't planned, believe me! *innocent smile*_

  


_Sorry if the title of this chapter gives too much away. But you readers must know me well enough by now to know that I would never let any of our intrepid heroes be mortally wounded... I'm not Stephen Sommers, after all. ;)_

  


_Keep the comments coming--as you can see by the above, I am reading them. :)_

  


  


8.

  


"Not wounded, not dying, merely enjoying a ladylike swoon."

  


~

  


Once I'd managed to shake them off, I ran quite a ways before I realized Evie wasn't moving. Not just pretending to be limp, but actually... well, limp. I called her name. Once, twice. No answer. No sign that she'd heard. For a second, I couldn't think straight. All I knew was, if she was hurt, I'd kill whoever was responsible. And I'd do it slowly.

  


We'd reached the more European section of Cairo by this time, so I figured it was safe (well, _safer_) to set her down and take a look. Even if any of them had managed to tail me, they wouldn't be stupid enough to attack us within earshot of dozens of British soldiers. There was enough light to see by as I laid her down on the ground, as gently as I could. I couldn't tell if she'd been shot.

  


"Evelyn... Evelyn, wake up. C'mon, honey, open your eyes..."

  


She was awfully pale, but she seemed to be breathing okay. So then--and I felt like kind of a sleazebag for doing it, especially while she was unconscious--I patted her down all over, to make sure she hadn't been hurt anywhere I couldn't see. It didn't look like it. It was hard to tell, because there was some blood on the pajamas to begin with.

  


"Oh, shit, Evie... what do I do?!" I could feel myself starting to panic. And I wasn't the kind of guy who panicked. I was the one who took over when other people lost it. But I felt so helpless...

  


Then, out of nowhere, I found myself flat on my back. My attacker, a guy who'd moved so quickly I hadn't had a chance to see his face, was sitting on my chest, yelling incoherently and jabbing at me with his fists. I was more surprised than overcome, and as soon as I heard the words "my sister," I knew what was going on.

  


"Jonathan!" I batted him away and sat up. "It's me!"

  


"Oh." He scrabbled to his feet and wiped his hand across his bleeding mouth. "Sorry, I thought... well, you know. What the devil's the matter with Evie?"

  


I bent over Evelyn again. "I don't know, she--she passed out! She wasn't hit--I just don't get it..."

  


Jonathan shoved me out of the way, then leaned in and examined her. "Fainted," he pronounced, then slapped her briskly across the face.

  


"Do that again and I'll tear you apart," I growled.

  


He looked at me like I suddenly had my head on backwards. "She's _fainted_, you nit!" he yelled. "That's what you're supposed to do!"

  


"But--but--Evelyn doesn't faint," I finished lamely. Well, it wasn't the kind of thing you'd expect from a girl who could look a walking, talking mummy in what was left of his face and not even blink.

  


Jonathan gave me a look, then shook his head, like he couldn't even be bothered. He slapped her cheek again. And a third time, harder. I guess I was being pretty arrogant. I was arguing with the guy who'd known Evelyn since the day she was born.

  


He hovered over her, hands fluttering nervously. "Yes, well... I dare say it's the first really ladylike thing she's done since--ah, there we are," he finished abruptly as Evelyn started to come around. "You gave O'Connell here quite a fright, my girl," he told her, chuckling.

  


Evelyn's response was to reach up and smack him. Hard.

  


"Oooh, I say, that was uncalled for!" he whined, rubbing his cheek.

  


"So was that last one of yours!" she shot back. "Not to mention calling me unladylike." Then, with the inconsistency that was typical of Evelyn, she sat up and threw her arms around him. He laughed, then got real quiet and held her tight. It only lasted a moment, but for the first time, I actually understood, a little, how Jonathan felt when Evie and I got so wrapped up in each other. Left out. Jealous, almost. He already knew her better than I ever would, in a lot of ways. They had a whole relationship and history that I was never going to be a part of. No matter what happened, they were still family. And I'd kind of swooped in out of nowhere and stolen his little sister away.

  


Jonathan moved back, then tapped her under the chin so she'd look up at him. "You won't get rid of me that easily, I'm afraid, old mum," he told her, then pinched her nose between his thumb and forefinger. She squealed, shoved him away, and wobbled to her feet.

  


"Rick, old man, pick her up, won't you?" Jonathan suggested, struggling to get up himself. "She won't admit it, but she's in no condition to walk. If she gives you any cheek, you have my permission to spank her."

  


"_Ooooooh_," she said. "Bloody men. I'm fine." Abruptly, she started to lean sideways. I barely managed to catch her in time. "Well, a bit dizzy." When I lifted her up, she didn't even protest, just sighed and shivered.

  


All the way back to the hotel, I carried her tucked close to my chest, her head on my shoulder. Jonathan walked beside me, stumbling, barefoot, looking like he was ready to pass out again himself. He talked a bit about where he'd been and what had happened. I didn't ask him any questions, and he didn't volunteer much information we hadn't already figured out. He'd woken up tied and gagged in the trunk of a car, head aching like it had been split open. From there he'd been taken to where he was when we found him. All the guys he saw and talked to had their faces covered and spoke "perfect textbook Arabic". He found out that his captors were English, he told me, during an attempted escape, when he kicked some guy in the vitals and distinctly heard the word "damn" before he was clubbed in the head again. Whatever they wanted, he didn't have it, and as soon as they left him alone, he started prying away the rotted boards near the base of the wall and digging with his bare hands. He assumed we were part of their group at first, which was why he pretended to be so out of it. And he'd fainted when he saw me, dressed like I was, because he figured she'd be caught for sure. Now that the whole thing was over, though, he was conveniently braver.

  


"Bunch of silly wankers playing dress-up, that's all they were. Don't know why they wanted Evie, though," he said thoughtfully.

  


"We'll figure it out," I told him, hugging her protectively.

  


He shrugged. "Yes. Well. Par for the bloody course, isn't it?"

  


"You two sure know how to find trouble," I said, grinning.

  


Jonathan clapped me on the shoulder. "Well, my fine young fellow... welcome to the family."

  


Much, much later, when we'd all had a chance to clean up, Jonathan and I were settled in the sitting room, waiting for Evelyn to finish getting dressed. The big window had been boarded up while we were gone, and a note of apology for the inconvenience had been left on the sideboard, along with a complimentary bottle of wine that even Jonathan wouldn't touch.

  


We made quite a team, the three of us. When I took my shirt off, I found that the bullet had left a crease in my shoulder. Wasn't the first time I'd been hit, or the worst. I knew from experience that it wouldn't be helped by stitches, or anything else other than rest and time. Evelyn insisted on playing doctor, though, fixing me up with so much tape and gauze that I could barely move my arm by the time she was through. I'll admit that I kind of liked having her fuss over me. She did it after we first came back from Hamunaptra; cleaning all my little scrapes with soft, tender touches, touching me and telling me how brave I was, shyly admitting that she didn't mind if I kept my arm around her waist while she worked. It took longer that way than it would have if I did it myself, but I'm not complaining.

  


Of course, she wouldn't let anyone look after her, insisting that all she needed was a hot bath and a good night's sleep to feel like herself again. She tended to all Jonathan's little scratches and bruises, even the split lip I gave him when he jumped on me. Apart from his head, which was starting to look like an overripe plum on the one side, he wasn't in bad shape. After pouring us each a generous ration of whiskey "as a panacea", he stretched out on the sofa with a wet towel draped over his eyes, milking it for all he was worth.

  


Evelyn had a little more colour in her face when she came in, but I noticed again that she was walking funny. Jonathan, peeking at her from under his towel, noticed it too. "I say, sis," he drawled as she limped across the room, "you haven't done your ankle, have you? She's got weak ankles," he added, looking over at me. "Been that way since she was this tall." He held his hand over the rug, at a height of about a foot and a half.

  


"She's been walking like that all night," I grunted. "Won't tell me why."

  


"Good lord, no, she wouldn't. Damn stubborn."

  


"No kidding."

  


"She can hear you," Evelyn added pointedly, going to the sideboard. "Oh, that's nice of them," she said, picking up the wine bottle. Seeing it was unopened, she looked curiously at her brother, then put it back.

  


Jonathan sat up, making room for her on the sofa. He'd gulped down his glass in three swallows and was starting to get happy. "Do stop tottering about, Evie." He patted the cushion beside him. "Sit down here like a good girl, and tell us what the trouble is. O'Connell will kiss it all better and make it go away."

  


Now she had a lot more colour in her face. "Be quiet, Jon."

  


It was the way she sat that gave it away. Half on, half off the sofa, back ramrod-straight. I couldn't help laughing when I figured it out, although I guess it wasn't that funny. Evelyn glared at me.

  


"What's the joke?" inquired Jonathan, leaning back and repositioning his towel.

  


"You sat on a piece of glass, didn't you?" I asked her. "When the window broke! Didn't you?"

  


She blushed even more, but didn't answer.

  


"No wonder you passed out! You probably lost some blood--God, Evelyn, you scared us half to death!"

  


"_I_ wasn't scared," Jonathan corrected, planting his sock feet on Evelyn's knees. I wanted to smack him in the head, but unfortunately, someone had beaten me to it in a major way.

  


"Why didn't you tell me?!" I demanded.

  


She shrugged, folding her hands in her lap. "It wasn't important at the time."

  


"You fainted!"

  


"Just a little..."

  


Jonathan snickered. "Don't argue with her, old boy. You won't win. I say, if she wants to go running about like a harebrained twit and being a fine representative of her sex in general, who are we to stop her?" 

  


"I did it to help _you_, idiot!" She shoved his feet away.

  


"Mmm, so you did, old mum, so you did." Jonathan reached over and helped himself to Evelyn's glass. "A toast, to my sister, the dashing heroine." Down it went, as quickly as the first.

  


I grinned and raised my glass. "I'll drink to that." I took a sip.

  


Evelyn fidgeted some more.

  


Well, I knew what I had to do. She wasn't going to appreciate it, but it was better to be embarrassed than to end up with a raw, infected wound in a very sensitive place. Believe me. Besides, it wasn't like we were complete strangers. Hell, we were supposed to be married in a week. And it wasn't like I'd never seen a woman's... okay, even I could see that _that_ probably wasn't an argument that would work in my favour.

  


Jonathan had retreated under his towel and taken over most of the sofa. I didn't realize how hard the whiskey had actually hit him until his hand slid off his chest and dropped to the floor. He was completely out. Now was as good a time as any.

  


"Evie?"

  


"Mmm?"

  


"I think someone should look at where you sat on the glass."

  


"Like a doctor?"

  


"A doctor, sure. Or me."

  


She shook her head. "No, thank you."

  


"You really should get it looked at."

  


"I will."

  


"It could be infected."

  


"I'll have it taken care of."

  


"Evelyn..."

  


"_No_, Rick."

  


"Look, I'm not gonna try anything!" I yelled, throwing my arms up in the air. "What is it with you? I know you're not a prude, and I don't know why you want me to think you are! I'm not some sex maniac who's gonna go completely nuts at the sight of a little skin!"

  


"I never said you were, and don't yell at me!"

  


I took a deep breath. "I want to make sure you're okay. That's all. I won't even touch you, I swear. Just let me take a quick look."

  


"One quick look? That's all?"

  


"Yeah."

  


Jonathan snored loudly, which at least got a smile out of her.

  


"All right," she said softly.

  


We went into the bathroom and closed the door. She leaned over the sink, and I hunkered down so that I could see what I was looking at. She undid her skirt and slid it down, then peeled back underwear and bandages, revealing only what was necessary. It was a nasty cut. I mean, she'd done a good job of cleaning the wound, especially considering that it wasn't easily accessible or anything. But she definitely needed a couple of stitches to close it up.

  


"Well?" she asked, in a voice that was barely a whisper. Her skin was all goosebumps.

  


I reached up, rested my hand in the warm hollow of her back. "I think you'll live... hey, you like embroidery, right?"

  


She snorted. Huh. Guess not.

  


"Well, if you want this to stop bleeding and start healing, one of us is gonna have to practice our sewing skills."

  


She sighed.

  


I rubbed her back reassuringly. "I actually have experience with this kind of stuff. Believe it or not."

  


She sniffed, in that snooty way she had. "At the rate you go about getting yourself shot, I shouldn't wonder."

  


"You want a pinch while I'm down here?"

  


"You wouldn't dare!"

  


It was pretty tempting. But probably not the smartest thing I could have done in that situation. "Do you want me to fix this?"

  


"Can you? I mean, do you have the right... supplies?"

  


"There's a needle and gut in my bag. I suggest you have a good, stiff drink while I'm getting that set up."

  


She fixed her skirt and ambled back into the living room without even a look in my direction.

  


Well, I can't say it's the most pleasant thing I ever did, so I'm not going to dwell on the details. But I did it. Three neat little stitches--don't know how I managed it, with my hands shaking like they were. Poor Evelyn. Even with her senses numbed by booze, she still left a lasting impression on the belt I gave her to bite. Gotta give her credit, though. She didn't cry, didn't even make a sound. Which makes her tougher than I am.

  


When it was all over, I carried her to her bedroom. She was pretty well soused, of course; she stared up at me with wide, dazed eyes, like she knew me from somewhere, but couldn't quite place my face. I set her down in the bed, on her side, as gently as I could. I sat next to her, debating whether or not I should try to undress her or at least do what I could to make her more comfortable.

  


"People always talked about her..." she murmured. Dreaming, probably, although her eyes were still open.

  


"About who, honey?" I asked.

  


"My mum. They always said--I was young, but I--you know, children listen to those things!" She tried to sit up, but I took her by the shoulders and eased her back.

  


"Okay, Evie, okay... there we go. Take it easy."

  


"It was all because of Jonathan," she told me.

  


Well, that figured. "Yeah? What'd he do?"

  


"You should have heard the names they called her, Rick... the things they said..."

  


"Who said?" I was surprised she was even lucid enough to know who I was. But she obviously had something on her mind.

  


"My father's family. She was so young... the baby... she couldn't hide..."

  


"Jonathan."

  


"Mm-hmm."

  


I was starting to get the picture now. "So when your folks got married, Jonathan was..."

  


"The guest of honour," she murmured, then opened her mouth in a wide yawn.

  


"And so people always talked about your mom behind her back... right?"

  


No response.

  


"Evie? Evelyn..."

  


She was dead to the world. Poor girl. She was having a hell of a time lately: crazy dead guys trying to sacrifice her, crazy live guys kidnapping her brother, and now, as the final straw, stitches in her ass and the mother of all hangovers to follow. Maybe I was bad luck. In any case, I wasn't going to stick around; I'd seen her hung over once before, and it wasn't pretty. Besides, I felt kind of obligated to keep an eye on Jonathan. Still, at least now I knew why she always took it so personally when I called her brother a bastard. I'd have to quit doing that.

  


At least, when she could hear me.


	9. You have stripped away my defenses Are y...

_Author's Notes: You all ought to be congratulated for your persistence in making it this far. And now I'm about to task your patience even further by still not finishing the story. ;) The following chapter is just a tad risqué, but, I hope, in the best possible taste. (If you've read everything up to this point, I'm sure you'll survive.) Thank you to everyone who's read and reviewed, and lived to read again!_

  


9.

  


"You have stripped away my defenses. Are you satisfied with your victory?"

  


~

  


I felt perfectly fine when I woke up... until to occurred to me that I hadn't, as I'd originally suspected, been on a fast train all night long. No; in fact, that nauseating sensation of continuous movement, as well as the persistent banging and clanging that accompanied it, was being generated entirely by my poor, abused head. Unfortunately, understanding this did not make the horrid feeling go away. If anything, thinking about it made it worse.

  


Things went from worse to positively horrific when I managed to get one eye open. The daylight was... loud. There is simply no other way to describe it. Even as much as a sliver of light became a complete sensory assault, my head pounding, my stomach heaving. I rolled over and pulled the pillow over my head, but no sooner had I managed to block out the light when I realized that I was about to be very ill, very shortly.

  


I dashed into my bathroom, slammed the door shut, and retched over the commode for what seemed like an eternity. My skin was all over pins and needles, my tongue was at least three times its normal size, I felt as though my head had been stuffed with cotton batting, and my behind hurt like the very devil. Perplexing symptoms indeed. Although who knew what sorts of diseases one might catch from having been recently kissed by a three-thousand-year-old corpse? Still, there was something strangely familiar about the whole ordeal, although I couldn't place it because my brain seemed to be in the process of disintegrating.

  


I wobbled to my feet and stood over the sink, trying to drink a glass of water without seriously aggravating either the pounding or the nausea. Once I'd managed that, I carefully brushed my teeth, feeling the scrape of each bristle magnified a thousandfold. Washing my face, I almost screamed when I caught sight of my reflection in the cabinet mirror.

  


As I replaced the glass, I puzzled over the needle and thread I found beside it. It wasn't mine; I hated to sew, and never bothered with it now that I didn't have to. One of the nicest things about being suddenly wealthy was discovering the joy of not having to darn one's stockings. But who could have left it there? As I examined the needle more closely, things started coming back to me. The window-glass. The stitches. The whiskey.

  


Then, and only then, did I fathom what the trouble was.

  


For the second time in my life, I was hung over.

  


Honestly, I found it impossible to understand what Jonathan liked so much about drinking. It made me clumsy, giggly, and apt to tell people personal information and then regret it the next day. I couldn't recall exactly what had been said, but I clearly remembered babbling on to Rick about my mother and father. And the after-effects were vile.

  


I was going to have to face the world eventually; best to get it over with as soon as possible. After struggling into a fresh skirt and blouse that matched only in the sense that they were both items of clothing, I stood at the door to the sitting room, pushing at it frantically for an inordinate amount of time before remembering that I was on the side that pulled inward. I gave the wretched thing a tug--and got a nasty shock when Rick tumbled into my room, unconscious.

  


I yelped in alarm--and then his eyes flicked open. He was on his feet within seconds.

  


"Evelyn! It's okay, honey, it's just me." He seemed to loom over me, swaying gently. Not unconscious after all, apparently, but only sleeping on a chair propped against my door. Awfully sweet of him, really, staying there to protect me.

  


I clutched at him, and he held me close, reassuringly solid. I pressed my face into his shirt and inhaled deeply, breathing in his wonderful clean sweat-and-soap smell.

  


"How are you feeling?" he asked, just near my ear.

  


I took a step back. "Please--please don't shout," I rasped.

  


He seemed uncertain whether to be amused or sympathetic. "Sorry."

  


"No, you're not, you think it's bloody funny!" I grabbed my head with both hands and waited for my own voice to stop reverberating. "Ooh. Oh dear."

  


Rick walked me over to the sofa, keeping one arm about my shoulders. With the picture window boarded up and all the curtains drawn, the sitting room was mostly in shadow, and still relatively cool. "Here, lie down," he told me, helping me ease onto the settee. I settled my head on a plush cushion with a sigh. Before I quite knew what I was about, a cool, wet cloth was being placed over my closed eyes. "There we go." His lips brushed against my cheek, and then I felt him take my hand and squeeze it reassuringly. Apart from being in complete physical and mental agony, being taken care of like this was something I could definitely become accustomed to. The intense throbbing at my temples and the base of my skull gradually faded to a dull, tolerable ache. "Feel better?" he whispered, stroking my arm.

  


"Much, thank you. Darling, I hope you didn't sleep on that hard chair all night."

  


"Nah." There was a pause, and then he added: "Couldn't. Your brother's snoring."

  


"I'm sorry." I wondered why he hadn't just come into my room, then realized that he'd been watching both myself _and_ Jonathan while we slept. "You must be tired. Why don't you go have a little lie down?"

  


"Maybe I'll do that." He placed his cheek against my stomach. I could feel the prickle of his stubble through the thin material of my blouse. "Hey, I could get used to this."

  


"Mmm." I felt around until my hand contacted somewhere in the vicinity of his ear. I tousled his hair and mumbled something about loving him, already drifting back to sleep. If he replied, I didn't hear it.

  


When I felt him fumbling at the front of my blouse a moment later, I sat up with a start, heart fluttering, head screaming. The wet cloth slid to the ground.

  


"What d'you think you're doing?" I demanded.

  


Rick snapped to his feet and held up both hands. "Hey, relax. You missed a couple buttons," he pointed out. His voice was calm, but his eyes blazed with an emotion I couldn't quite identify. "I don't mind if you wanna show me the goods, but Jonathan's supposed to have visitors today. I figured you wouldn't appreciate being on display."

  


I peered down at my chest, and found myself looking at--well, at my chest. My brassiere, anyhow. At least I'd managed to put _that_ on properly.

  


"Where is Jonathan?" I inquired, blushing furiously and trying to hold my blouse shut. When Rick had said a couple of buttons, he was obviously being tactful.

  


Rick, stone-faced, pointed in the direction of the room they shared. "Resting."

  


"Oh. And... when are his friends coming?"

  


"Later."

  


I was trying to button up, but I seemed to have forgotten how to work my fingers. I couldn't get anything to match up properly. One of the buttons popped right off the second I thought had a good grip on it. My face began to sting from all the blood that had rushed to it. I didn't know how I was ever to survive the day if this sort of thing went on.

  


I glanced up at Rick, who was standing over me with his arms folded. It was obvious that he wasn't going to offer his help. I dimly remembered there being an argument about something like this the night before.

  


"I don't think I can do these," I whispered, indicating the buttons.

  


He relaxed his arms, but didn't bend down.

  


"Please help me."

  


He didn't move. "You gonna yell at me some more?"

  


"No. You just... startled me. I was half-asleep." I reached up and tugged at his sleeve, pulling him down to kneel beside me. Cradling his big, brown hand in both of mine, I told him, "You helped me last night, and you were a perfect gentleman. I trust you. And it isn't... it isn't as though I don't like you to look at me, or to touch me."

  


I don't know what moved me to do what I did then--whether it was the pervading sense that none of this was real, or simply the storms brewing in his eyes. As if in a dream, I slowly moved his hand until it was over my heart, and let it fall there, just inside my shirt. I couldn't escape the sensation that my head was floating, but I could no longer be certain if it was due to overindulgence or sheer nerves. His face betrayed no emotion, but his palm twitched as it made contact with my bare skin, as though I'd given him an electric shock.

  


"In fact, I... I like it a bit too much for my own good, I think," I continued, as casually as I could, clasping both my hands to cover his. "I've been teasing you a little these past few weeks, testing your limits, and that isn't fair."

  


"Gee, you think?" he squeaked, in a forced, strangled falsetto.

  


I smiled in spite of myself. "Oh, be quiet. You're not innocent in all this, so don't try to make out that you are." To demonstrate, I removed my hands, giving him the opportunity to take his back. He didn't.

  


"Evelyn, I can't be around you and not want to be with you," he told me candidly, his eyes suddenly alight with green flame. "That's just how it is. You're so beautiful. And the more I'm around you, the more beautiful you get." He looked down at his hand, his expression one of wonder. "Your heart's going a mile a minute."

  


"Yes, well, I--I'm nervous, Rick."

  


This admission obviously surprised him. "You know I would never hurt you."

  


"I know... it's just that I've never let anyone touch me like this before."

  


"I won't, if it makes you uncomfortable."

  


I shook my head, blushing again, suddenly shy--which was absurd, considering the circumstances. "I want you to," I whispered.

  


After a moment, he began to move his hand lower--tentatively at first, then with more assurance when I didn't offer any objection. No innocent caress, this; there was definite, wicked intent. But his gaze, so intense and clear, never left my face. 

  


When I smiled, though, something in him snapped. He sprang forward and kissed me deeply, urgently, devouring my mouth as if he'd been starving for it. His hands seemed to rove of their own accord; so many things happened at once that I was completely overcome. I had no idea how to respond at first; but, rather than shying away, I let him guide me, clinging to him so tightly that it was as though I were trying to pass through him. He was marvelously strong; I could hold him as fast as I wished and it barely fazed him. If anything, he enjoyed it.

  


Time passed--impossible to tell how much--and it gradually became difficult to ignore the fact that my head was about to split open any second. I whispered to Rick, who was making some very interesting progress (resourceful man that he was), that we ought to stop.

  


"We'll finish this," I told him. "But not on the settee, with my brother in the next room." My lips felt funny, sort of chapped.

  


"We could go in your room and lock the door." His mouth was still against the base of my throat, producing a peculiar--but not unpleasant--sensation when he spoke. I placed both hands on his shoulders and pushed him back, gently but firmly. "Best hangover cure in the world..." he added.

  


"I'm not going to ask how you know that," I replied.

  


He avoided my gaze, looking up at the ceiling. "Heard it from a guy I know."

  


Knowing he'd slept with other women, understanding and accepting that, had never been a problem for me. We'd both been brought up with an implicit understanding of society's double standard: men were permitted--and, in fact, expected--to have a checkered past. Women, on the other hand, were supposed to remain innocent and chaste. (Which begs the question of how the men are to sow their wild oats if all the women are putting fences around their fields... but I digress.) We were going to be married, after all; what more proof did I need that I was the one Rick loved?

  


Dismissing the lingering feelings of insecurity and jealousy, however, was proving to be harder than I would have thought. The insecurity was strongest: what if I wasn't what he expected? What if waiting so long was setting us both up for disappointment? I suspected that one of the qualities he admired in me was my innocence in such matters, relishing his role as teacher; would he still see me in the same light afterwards?

  


I forged on with, "In any event, I think it's best we wait until I feel more... until I'm not so..."

  


"Hung over?"

  


"Indisposed," I finished triumphantly.

  


He slid his hand down to my stomach. "Say it," he ordered.

  


"No, I won't."

  


"Admit you're hung over." He dug his fingertips into the soft flesh, just a little. A warning.

  


I tilted my chin defiantly. "Never."

  


He tickled me viciously, and I made a bizarre noise that was a cross between a laugh and a scream. "Come on, tough stuff," he taunted. "Say it!"

  


I tried a counter-attack, but he pinned both my arms over my head and continued the assault with his free hand. "Rick--stop--I'm going to be sick!" I squealed breathlessly. When he let me up, concern etched on his face, I quickly struck at the juncture of his neck and shoulder.

  


He squirmed away from me and rolled to his feet. "Okay, that's it," he growled, advancing on me. But before he had a chance to act on whatever devious impulse had occurred to him, I heard Jonathan emerging from his room.

  


"Hallo-allo-allo," greeted my brother.

  


"Hiya." Rick quickly grabbed his jacket from a nearby chair and threw it over me, concealing the fact that I was rather less dressed than I ought to have been. Snug under the heavy broadcloth, I fiddled about with my buttons, but it was twice as difficult when I couldn't even see them. I managed to get one done up, although which one, and whether I'd done it properly, was anybody's guess.

  


"Thought I heard the spoilt little creature whining earlier, is she up?"

  


It was nice to know he referred to me in such glowing terms when I wasn't present. "I do not whine," I informed him. If any member of the family could properly be said to be a whiner, that distinction belonged to my older brother.

  


Jonathan's face peeked over the back of the settee. "Oh, there you are, little disembodied voice. Didn't see you. Hallo, rat's nest." He tugged at one of my frizzled locks, then flashed me a cheeky grin that belied the nasty bruises on the side of his face. His own unruly mop of dark curls had been neatly tamed, and he was looking enviably well-rested. He made one of his comical faces, waggling his eyebrows, trying to coax a smile out of me. When I didn't respond, he inquired, "Feeling poorly, sis? You look like death warmed over."

  


Having actually seen death warmed over, I would like to say in my own defense that it was not quite as bad as all that.

  


"I'm not well," I told him, ignoring Rick as he mouthed the words 'hung over'. "I do wish you wouldn't _shout_, Jonathan."

  


"Oh, was I shouting? Sorry." To Rick, who was covering me to my chin for reasons I couldn't quite fathom, he added, "Does she really need to be bundled up like that, old man? She's all red in the face." 

  


"I was cold," I said feebly, although I felt as though I might spontaneously combust any moment.

  


Jonathan reached down and felt my forehead and cheeks, looking anxious. "Hmm. Feverish. Breathing's shallow, too. And you don't sound at all yourself. Have you a sore throat, my girl?"

  


"A bit," I replied, quite truthfully.

  


"Headache?"

  


"Yes, rather a bad one, actually."

  


He gave Rick a knowing nod. "You can always tell it's serious when she actually admits to anything being wrong. Should I run and fetch a doctor, d'you think?"

  


Rick shook his head. "Nah, she'll be fine. Probably just, y'know, exhaustion. There's been a lot of excitement around here." He didn't specify how much of it had taken place on the settee within the past half hour or so, but I still could feel my ears reddening. "Besides, nobody leaves unless we all go together. New rule."

  


"Are you in much pain, Evie? Do you think you could swallow something?"

  


The thought made my stomach turn somersaults, but I nodded meekly. I knew that if I said no, he would certainly try to find a doctor--or worse still, drag me to a hospital.

  


Leaning precariously over the back of the settee, Jonathan leaned in and kissed my cheek, his unshaven chin abrasive against my skin. "Poor thing. I'll dig up some aspirin for you." He stood up and made his way back to his room, still talking. "Marvelous stuff, aspirin. Only good thing to come out of Germany in the last fifty years, if you ask me."

  


The second Jonathan was out of the room, Rick began to snicker. "You're something else," he told me.

  


"Whatever do you mean?"

  


"You! He thinks you're sick, he's really worried about you!"

  


I shrugged. "It'll be good for him. Get him up and about and thinking of someone other than himself for once." It wouldn't do me any harm to be taken care of and fussed over, either. I'd earned it.

  


Rick snorted derisively.

  


"Since when are you an advocate of my brother?" I demanded.

  


He shrugged. "Probably since he told me that you were the only valuable thing he'd managed to hang on to."

  


I sat up with a squeak. "He said that?" Curiouser and curiouser, as Alice would say.

  


Rick nodded. "At least now I know where the whole Nurse Nightingale act comes from. Runs in the family." He leaned in and adjusted the collar of the jacket so that it covered my throat. I couldn't understand why he was suddenly so compulsive about it; I decided I didn't mind the attention, and didn't inquire.

  


Jonathan was back within moments with the aspirin bottle, then ducked into the hall to talk to the steward. "I'm having them bring you up some juice, Evie," he informed me, returning to lean over the back of the settee. "I'll stir the pill into that."

  


He smiled down at me, and I felt myself suddenly welling up with sisterly affection. I didn't like to think how close I'd come to losing him. I suddenly remembered being very small, sitting on my mother's knee, while she related what she liked to call the story of her boy. She'd called him Jonathan, she explained, because it meant 'God has given'. Jon had groaned and grumbled, of course--being a boy, he'd wanted a manly name, something that meant 'kills large monsters with his bare hands' or 'wins at cricket and never bathes'. But I'd always thought the name was an ideal choice--especially in the years following our parents' death. To me, Jonathan was a gift.

  


"She doesn't like taking pills," he was informing Rick, with the air of a guide directing a tour. "Never has--not since the time she swallowed that tooth."

  


And, once again, I was reminded why the name Jonathan had also come to mean "big-mouthed idiot brother".

  


"You swallowed a tooth?" Rick demanded, eyebrows climbing.

  


"Jonathan, shut up."

  


"I hope it was yours," mused my fiancé.

  


"Oh, yes," continued my brother, eyes alight with devilish good humour. "Her very first tooth. It was loose, and so I told her if she gave me tuppence, I'd have it out for her, and the tooth fairy would give her a whole shilling. I didn't bother to tell her the silly thing would come out on its own if she just left it alone." He perched on the arm of the settee. "So we tied a bit of string round it, and--"

  


"_Don't_, Jonathan." The very thought of our little experiments in amateur dentistry made my stomach roil. "Please."

  


"Anyhow, when we'd finally got it out, Evie was so upset that she tried to stick it back with chewing-gum! And she swallowed it--chewing-gum and all!"

  


Rick must have seen it in my face, for he moved like lightning, grabbing the waste-paper basket and placing it in my lap. There was very little left in my stomach that could come up, but that didn't stop me from giving it the old college try.

  


By the time I was finished, the steward had brought the orange juice. He had his hand out for a tip, and was rather nonplussed when Rick handed him the soiled waste-paper basket instead. Jonathan set to pulverizing the little white tablet with the flat of his jack-knife. He made remarkably quick work of it, and before long I was drinking the fruits of his labour, dissolved in the glass of juice. I wasn't sure whether the concoction would make me sick again, but, wonder of wonders, I actually found myself feeling better afterwards. Jonathan advised sleep and a shot of gin, not necessarily in that order, then took himself off to his room to read until his visitors arrived.

  


Rick remained perched beside me on the settee, one hand splayed over my abdomen. He hooked a finger over the collar of the jacket he'd draped over me and peeled it back, then whistled admiringly.

  


"Oh, hush," I told him, crossing my arms self-consciously.

  


He looked blankly at me for a moment, then grinned. "Not that. I was just... you have a scarf, right?"

  


"Hmm?"

  


"A scarf. You know. Something to wear around your neck?" He made a tying motion at his throat.

  


"Yes, why?"

  


He was trying to keep from laughing now.

  


"Rick, what is it?"

  


"Not sure how to tell you this, honey, but you have a huge hickey right here." He touched a fingertip to the base of my throat, one of the places where he'd lavished so much attention earlier.

  


"A huge _what_?" I asked, bewildered. I wondered if this was some new and revolting hangover-related indignity, and swore I would never touch another drop as long as I lived.

  


"A hickey. You'd call it a... um... jeez, Jonathan would know, but I'm not gonna ask him. It's like a bruise that you get from lots of kissing."

  


"A love-bite?"

  


"There we go."

  


I'd overheard girls at school talking about such things, in hushed tones, punctuated by giggles. I was never invited to join these discussions, excluded by the fact that I had nothing to contribute to them. At the time, I couldn't understand the appeal of being marked by someone. Now, though, I had to admit that the idea did have a certain charm. I ran my fingers over the spot he'd indicated. It was tender, and a bit swollen. I was curious to see what it looked like in the mirror, but I didn't particularly fancy my odds of making it to the bathroom unaided.

  


"You've never done that before," I mused.

  


Rick ran a hand through his hair, looking anywhere but at my neck. "I didn't mean to--I tried to be gentle. Guess I just got carried away. Sorry."

  


"Don't apologize. It was... lovely." _Lovely_ wasn't quite the right word, but it would have to do. Thinking on the experience to find a better word twisted my stomach all about, and I wanted that orange juice to stay precisely where it was. "Although... someplace rather less obvious might be advisable in the future, don't you agree? Unless you want to keep buying me scarves."

  


Surprised by the implication, and obviously uncertain whether or not it was intentional, Rick merely nodded slowly, eyes wide.

  


My hand strayed to my throat again, and I smiled. "It doesn't hurt, which means I have no reservations about trying to give you one, next chance I get."

  


"Baby," he growled, "you name the time and place, and I'll be there."

  


The pounding in my head had mostly abated by this time, but my heart was still rabbiting along at an alarming speed. Every part of my body ached. I wanted so badly to stay awake; I was eager to explore, and to be discovered in return. I wanted to say, _here and now,_ and see the fire in his eyes flare, just before he pulled me into his arms. But I was completely knackered, and I knew it was only a matter of time before I would be unable to keep my eyes open.

  


Rick brought his hand up to my face and caressed my cheek with the backs of his fingers. "You need to get some rest," he told me softly.

  


I nodded. "Are _you_ going to tell me I look like death warmed over?"

  


"Hell, no. You're gorgeous." He kissed me before I could protest--a soft, lingering kiss that revived all those flutters in the pit of my stomach. When it began to deepen, he was the one who pulled away. "Okay... lots of time for that."

  


I smiled, and the bloom in my cheek was ardour, not embarrassment.

  


He sat down on the floor beside the settee, his back resting against my hip. I closed my eyes, wondering how on earth I could possibly sleep now. It wasn't long, however, before I slid into a sort of half-conscious daze, cocooned in safety and warmth.

  


"You asleep?" I heard him ask at one point.

  


"Yes," I replied.

  


"Okay. Want me to fix your buttons now?"

  


I'd completely forgotten about them. "Mmm. Could you?"

  


He lingered over the task rather longer than a gentleman would, but, truth be told, I didn't mind at all.

  



	10. Do you think it wise to imbibe?

_Author's notes:_

  


_Well, Christmas is here early for those of you who have been after me to get this next chapter out--that is, unless you were expecting this to be the end, in which case it's more like when you ask Santa for toys and he brings you knee socks instead. Still, the least you can do is try this on before you get upset and start throwing things... :)_

  


_Yes, I know the last chapter had very little to do with the plot. But I noticed that everyone who pointed that out also hastened to assure me that they were not complaining. ;) Unfortunately, I do have some loose ends floating about, and this chapter gets us on the way to tying some of those up. Enjoy, and review if you can--I do take your comments into consideration. :)_

  


  


10.

  


"Do you think it wise to imbibe? We must be on the _qui vive_ tonight."

  


~

  


So I carried Evelyn to her bedroom and tucked her in. I seemed to be doing a lot of that lately--but it didn't mean I was getting anything out of it besides a goodnight kiss. Although... that wasn't _exactly_ true. Not anymore. Just when I'd thought I knew her inside and out, when I figured I could guess how she'd react in any situation, she'd turned around and surprised me once again.

  


God, she was amazing.

  


I stood by her bed for a while, just watching her sleep and wishing like hell that she would wake up. She was completely down for the count, sleeping off the aftermath of a drinking binge she didn't even get to enjoy. But even hung over, she was just about the best thing I'd ever seen. Face flushed, hair all messy, half-lidded eyes, pouting mouth... it reminded me of those days travelling back from Hamunaptra. And those nights. She made it clear, on that first night, how far she was willing to let me go; the one time I did try to push my limits, just a little bit, she made me get up and go sleep next to Jonathan. We were already talking about marriage by that point, in the same roundabout way we talked about most things. I mean, both of us knew we could never be with anyone else. So I didn't really understand what the big deal was, but I figured, if it was important to her, the wait wouldn't kill me. I hoped.

  


The point is, I'd gotten used to wanting to do things to Evelyn that I knew she wouldn't allow; the impulses were always with me, like a toothache, distantly painful but familiar. And sometimes I'd let it show, let her know that I was in a pissy mood because she was making me wait. I knew she had her reasons. But, not being the sharpest tool in the shed, it never occurred to me that one of those reasons might be that she was just plain nervous.

  


My first time... that was no big deal. I was drunk, she was much older than me, we met in a bar, it didn't mean anything. I didn't even take my boots off. There had been a few others--not as many as you'd think--names and faces I couldn't remember any more. It was just an act, a way to pass the time, something I was better at than paying them compliments or listening to them talk. I never made a real connection with any of them. Not the way I did with Evelyn.

  


I was going to be Evelyn's first. And the more I thought about that, the more nervous _I_ got. Which was probably one of the reasons I wanted the whole thing over with. But she deserved better than that, and I damn well knew it.

  


When she let me touch her, I meant to take things slow. I understood that she was scared, and I was prepared for just about any reaction: asking me to stop, pushing me away, looking scared, going cold, tears, yelling, slapping me, locking herself in her room. What I wasn't prepared for, though, was that slow, sexy smile. I went all to pieces. It was like being seventeen again, all body and no brain, being pulled in ten different directions at once. I went in the direction that seemed most appealing.

  


I couldn't feel too bad about it though, in the end. I mean, she was right there with me, in the moment. Ready, willing, and able. It didn't take her long to catch on, and to come up with a few tricks of her own that I hadn't expected. I realized, looking down at her beautiful, sleeping face, that I could no longer think of my sweet little fiancée as a "nice" girl. Because, let's face it, nice girls don't kiss like that.

  


I reached down and absently traced the line of her throat with my fingertip. I was sorry she'd have to wear a scarf for the next little while, but she didn't seem to mind. She almost seemed flattered. Can't say I'd ever had that reaction to a hickey before. That crack about "someplace rather less obvious" nearly killed me, though. At the time I was sure she hadn't meant it the way I'd interpreted it. But now, I wasn't so sure. One thing was certain: compared with the raging torture of wanting to do things to Evelyn that she _would_ allow, the familiar old toothache seemed like a day at the beach.

  


She half-smiled in her sleep, and tilted her head back a little, as if inviting me to pick up where we'd left off. I hoped she was dreaming about me. I bent down and kissed her--on the chin, for a change of pace--and then pretty much ran out of the room when she sighed. Otherwise I was going to wake her up, and then all kinds of things would happen that she probably wouldn't thank me for in the long run.

  


Once I was safely back in the sitting room, I stretched out on the still-warm sofa, but I knew I wasn't going to be able to sleep. Well, I was right about that, as it turned out, although I sure guessed wrong about why.

  


Jonathan was bored with his book, apparently, and thought he'd pass the time of day with me instead. I must have been off my game, because I didn't even know he was there until I felt something tap my foot. He's a sneaky little bastard when he wants to be, that's for sure. I blinked the sleep from my eyes and sat up to find him standing over me, a glass in one hand and a funny look on his face.

  


"Ah, fine, you're awake," he said, throwing himself into the armchair opposite. "Where's Evie?"

  


"Sleeping." I pointed to her bedroom door.

  


"Good, good. I say, you're not going to go making this a habit, are you?"

  


"Making what a habit?"

  


"Getting my sister drunk."

  


"I didn't get her drunk." I've always been a lousy liar, and this time was no exception.

  


"Now that, my boy, is poppycock. D'you think I don't know a hangover when I bloody well see one?" His tone was jovial, but I could tell he was a little irritated. "Exhaustion, my lily-white arse. You could smell it on her."

  


"Look, it's not what you think--" I started, but he didn't let me get any further.

  


"I'll stand for a lot, old man. I've been very patient, looking the other way whenever I can, pretending I didn't know what was going on when you two fed me that story about Evie having trouble with the mosquito netting." 

  


He was starting to get worked up. I hoped he wasn't going to try to fight me. I didn't want to hurt him. But I should have known better: Jonathan never uses his fists unless he's really against the wall. And usually not even then. He hits a guy with the best weapon he's got--his mouth.

  


"But damn it, man, it just isn't _sporting_ to get a girl so blind drunk she can't tell you from the bedpost. Especially when the girl is my sister!"

  


He really had a blind spot when it came to Evelyn, I realized. As far as he was concerned, she was a sweet, innocent girl, and I was the heartless jerk who had come along and corrupted her. Well, I figured I'd try explaining myself one more time. And if he wouldn't give me a chance to talk, I might have to smack him.

  


"I can explain," I told him.

  


"Well, you had better bloody start."

  


"Look, you can't tell her I told you this, okay?"

  


The anger on Jonathan's face melted into skeptical curiosity. "All right..."

  


"I had to put a couple of stitches in her. From when she sat on the glass."

  


"Oh--oh, I say!" He squirmed in his seat in sympathy.

  


"Yeah. I didn't want to hurt her, so I had her drink until she couldn't feel it. Anyway, she's real embarrassed about it."

  


"I should say so. Good heavens."

  


"And, just so you know, I never..." As I said, I'm a lousy liar, and after what had just happened, I couldn't exactly say I'd never touched her. "I never took advantage of her," I finished finally. "You can even ask her. I spent the whole night out here, guarding her door."

  


Jonathan reviewed my explanation mentally. It seemed to pass muster, and he smiled. "Well, all right. I knew you were a decent sort, O'Connell."

  


"Always have been, Carnahan." I grinned.

  


He stood up, good spirits completely restored. "You do make a good point, in your inimitable fashion. If we're to be brothers-in-law, the formalities are going to have to cease, aren't they?"

  


"Sounds like a plan."

  


"Righty-o, Rick, old boy."

  


There was a knock on the door. I jumped up, but Jonathan ran to it and threw it open before I had a chance to stop him. It goes without saying that I was pissed about that, but I'll say it anyhow. I mean, never mind that the guy had been kidnapped from his bed by a group of unidentified men who were now after his sister--let's just let everyone in without even asking who it is first!

  


When Sir Hugo Whatever-Whatever and a couple of his titled buddies minced into the room, however, I heaved a sigh of relief and sank back down onto the sofa. They'd left a message for Jonathan that they'd be dropping by.

  


"I have brought a bouquet for the patient," Sir Hugo announced, holding up a very pricey-looking bottle of bourbon. The other two placed bottles of equally expensive booze onto the sideboard as they followed him in. Beats the hell out of flowers, I'll say that. 

  


Jonathan definitely seemed to agree. He cracked open the bourbon and was pouring out within seconds. "I say, chaps, it's awfully decent of you to come up and see me like this." He handed me the first glass. "Oh, by the way, this is my sister's fiancé, Rick O'Connell."

  


One of the "chaps" was the same little rat-faced swell who had called Evie a crackpot the other night. I grinned at him. If he didn't remember me now, he sure would before he left.

  


Sir Hugo sank onto the sofa beside me, and delivered a hearty clap on the shoulder. I don't like strangers touching me as a general rule, but I figured I should make nice for Jonathan's friends. At least until I could get that one guy alone. "Yars, of course... I believe we bumped into you the other night, isn't that so?"

  


"That's so," I echoed.

  


"Yars, capital. Jonny, none of that bourbon for me, it upsets my stomach this early in the day. I'll just have a gin and water, if you'd be so good..." He turned back to me. "I understand the big day is looming large, young feller-me-lad."

  


I nodded and sipped my drink. It was the best I'd had in a long time; possibly ever. I didn't even know you could _get_ booze like that in Cairo.

  


"Starting to get a touch of the old, er, jitters, I say, what?"

  


I shrugged. "Nah." For once, I wasn't just being cocky; if there was anything in my life I could be certain of, it was Evelyn.

  


He gave a sort of blustery exclamation that I figured was supposed to be a laugh. "Capital, capital."

  


"Fine girl, your Evie," piped up the little rat-faced guy, taking a seat as far away from me as possible. "Absolutely smashing. Lovely as can be."

  


There were nods of agreement from Sir Hugo and his other pal. Evelyn was topping, ripping, simply splendid, as dashed pretty as a little Monet. And so on.

  


"Thanks," I said, since it seemed like I was supposed to say something. The way they talked about her bugged me--like she was my pet or my property. "I had nothing to do with it." They all laughed even harder at that.

  


Jonathan didn't seem concerned about this; he looked around at his friends, beaming. For someone involved in so many rackets, he was a surprisingly credulous person. In his way, he was even more gullible than his sister. Evelyn was savvy enough not to make the same mistake twice; it was just experience of the world that she didn't have, and that would come with time. Jonathan had seen and done worse things than she'd ever even thought about, and he didn't really seem to learn from any of it. As soon as his money was pissed away, these guys would suddenly have full calendars, and he'd be back picking pockets in the casbah. Then again, it was his life, and he seemed to be happy. Who was I to judge?

  


He raised his glass. "A toast," he announced. "To my baby sister."

  


Well, I'd drink to that any day of the week. I hoisted up my own glass, and everyone else followed.

  


"May she always have happiness in her life--or O'Connell here will have to answer for it."

  


Snorts and whinnies of laughter from around the room.

  


I nodded. "Sounds fair."

  


"To Evie," he concluded.

  


"To Evie," the rest of us repeated, and slung back our drinks.

  


The bourbon rushed through me, liquid heat, setting every nerve ending on fire. I suddenly wanted Evelyn so badly it was painful, and I wished all these guys, Jonathan included, would just get lost so I could go into her room, wake her up, and unfix those damn buttons for her.

  


"You know, Rick," Jonathan chattered, happily oblivious to my predicament, "I won that little trinket for Evie from old Hugo here. Rick doesn't believe I won the thing, fellows. He thinks I... what was the word you used, old boy? Swiped? He thinks I swiped it."

  


"You swiped the paper," I retorted, only half-listening to the conversation.

  


"That I did, and a pretty bit of a thing it was, too! Wasn't it, Jerrers?"

  


The rat-faced man nodded. "Wherever did that end up, Jonny?"

  


"Oh, it's lying about somewhere, I'm sure," said Jonathan, waving his hand vaguely in the direction of his sister's bedroom. "It's got to be. She never throws anything away. Right bloody pack rat, is my sister. You'd better buy yourselves a big house, Rick--you're going to need it to store all of her bric-a-brac."

  


Sir Hugo got up and poured everyone generous refills from the various bottles, waving Jonathan off as he tried to help. "The Good Lord gave you a seat, old man. Use it, and do stop bloody hopping about. You're the invalid, you shan't do anything more strenuous than lift a glass." He started handing out the drinks. "Now, I say we drink another toast--to the bride and groom. Happiness to their sheets, as Shakespeare would have it."

  


I could feel myself going red, mostly because I'd already been thinking along the same lines, in terms that weren't quite so refined.

  


Sir Hugo winked as he placed a full glass on the table in front of me. "D'you know the Bard, young fellow?"

  


"Not personally." What I knew about Shakespeare could have been written on the palm of my hand--although Evelyn assured me that some of the bloodier tragedies would be right up my alley.

  


Sir Hugo guffawed, and patted my shoulder again. "Good man. Excellent."

  


Jonathan seemed less enthused about this toast, but he drank just the same. So did I.

  


I put my hand over the top of my glass when Hugo started pouring out again. "I'm good for now," I said neutrally. Not that I'm opposed to getting nice and shit-faced every once in a while, but one of us needed to be on our guard, and I was definitely starting to feel the influence of the bourbon. Besides, I wanted to be in full control of my reflexes for when Evelyn felt better.

  


Sir Hugo tut-tutted me, tried to pry my hand up, and failed. "Come now, O'Connell!" He gave me a nudge. I gave him one back, winding him nicely.

  


"Be a sport, Rick!" cheered Jonathan, complacently offering up his own glass. Sir Hugo filled it while the other guys helped themselves from the sideboard.

  


"You must have just one more," said Sir Hugo, rubbing his stomach. He picked up my glass--which was funny, since I didn't remember taking my hand off it. "We're drinking now to your future brother-in-law and his little adventure the other night."

  


I glared at Jonathan. "You told them about that?" I demanded.

  


"Ooh, yesh, of course!" He was starting to slur already. I wondered how much he'd already had before his friends turned up. "It was quite exciting, dontcha know."

  


"I do know. I was there," I reminded him pointedly. I looked around the room, which seemed to be wobbling a little. There was something I wanted to say, but it just slid right out the back of my head before I could get a good hold on it. "Can someone grab me a glass of water?" I asked, closing my eyes for a second and pinching the bridge of my nose. When I looked around me again, everyone was watching me expectantly. "You guys like it stronger than I'm used to," I explained, swiping a hand across my forehead. I was sweating like a pig all of a sudden.

  


"I'll get--" Jonathan leapt to his feet, suddenly looked very seasick, and then fell forward, landing with a crash on the coffee table. His half-full glass spilled all over the carpet. We all cheered.

  


"To Jonny!" cried the rat-faced guy, and knocked back his drink. I didn't want to punch him any more, couldn't really remember why I'd wanted to do that in the first place.

  


"Damn, that's gonna hurt tomorrow," I said, feeling pleasantly detached from my surroundings. Everyone laughed. I remembered what it was I'd wanted to say before. "Hey, when did you guys have time to talk to Jonathan, anyhow?"

  


"Come again, my good man?" asked Sir Hugo pleasantly. His face seemed huge, then suddenly telescoped away.

  


"You--he told you about last night... but we've all been here since... and nobody--never mind, I... I can't think."

  


"That's quite all right. Now, why don't you be a good lad and take a little nap like Jonny here?"

  


"Wait--you--" Everything exploded into my brain at once. Jonathan had gone down way too fast--and these guys knew more than they should about everything that had happened the night before--and only Jonathan and I had been drinking the bourbon...

  


My mind flashed on Evelyn, sound asleep in the other room, and I took a clumsy swing at Sir Hugo, then another. He skipped out of my reach easily, chuckling. He said something, but by now his words had stopped making sense. Everything was flat and out of focus. After swaying for what seemed like hours, I lunged for him again, stumbled, and hit the floor like a ton of bricks.

  


I either said it or thought it, but the last thing in my mind as the darkness closed in was, _Evelyn..._


	11. Their loyalty had been won with money, a...

  


_Author's notes: Cheers to Liz for pointing out that laudanum is odourless and tasteless. Er, don't expect me over for dinner any time soon. ;)_

  


_Caution: Rick uses a bit of bad language in this section. Well... I (and Evelyn) think he's entitled. ;)_

  


11.

  


"Their loyalty had been won with money, and as soon as the source of funds dried up, their devotion withered."

  


~

  


I've never been what can properly be called a light sleeper--one can't be, you see, having grown up with the likes of my brother. Particularly if one's bedroom window overlooks a convenient trellis on the side of the house farthest from one's parents' bedroom. Jonathan can creep like a cat when he so chooses, provided he's sober. So, while I was somewhat accustomed to intermittent rustlings and scrapings (and the occasional drunken stumble into the dresser) and slept through them easily, various other disturbances--such as several loud thuds emanating from the sitting room--were bound to wake me.

  


I sat up, disoriented; my head still didn't feel quite right. But as I was awake now, fully awake, I decided I might as well get out of bed. I changed my skirt (really, I thought, what _had_ I been thinking when I got dressed that morning?), then sat down at my dressing table to powder my face and put my hair up properly. As soon as I caught sight of my reflection, however, I immediately got up and went in search of a scarf. The last thing I needed was for Jonathan to see my throat in its present condition. If he made a silly joke--or, worse still, tried to be brotherly and sit Rick and I down for a well-intentioned lecture--I might find out if it were actually physically possible to die of embarrassment.

  


The entire time I was digging through my suitcase, I kept hearing the strangest noises outside my door. I wondered what on earth Rick and Jonathan could be doing--it sounded as though they were trying to hit each other with the furniture! While that wouldn't have been particularly out of character for my fiancé, Jonathan wasn't generally disposed to amateur athletics unless they involved bats or guns and a whole gang of his foppish fellows.

  


Then I heard a high-pitched whinny--Sir Hugo Brice-Boynton, no doubt. Jonathan had always been one of his favourite hangers-on, and now that we'd come into a bit of money, he suddenly claimed to be one of our oldest and dearest friends. Jonathan had even angled to get him an invitation to the wedding, but I'd put my foot down. I never liked the man; he was overly inclined to view women as appendages, second-class citizens, and it took a lot of work on my part to ensure that Jonathan didn't absorb too many of his rather disagreeable opinions.

  


I found the scarf and put it on as best I could. It looked odd and didn't match the rest of the outfit, but no matter; Sir Hugo and his entourage considered me a rather gauche and badly-dressed representative of my inferior gender in any case, and Rick didn't particularly care what I wore... _as long as it's buttoned properly_, I amended mentally, my thoughts momentarily drifting.

  


I felt quite sure I could convince Jonathan and his friends to take their noisy little party elsewhere, on the grounds that I was ill and needed rest and quiet. Then it would be a simple matter of ensuring Rick that I didn't immediately require either. He was so careful of me sometimes--but I wasn't made of glass, and I wouldn't shatter in his embrace. The sooner he learned that, the better off we'd both be.

  


Having decided on my plan of action, I walked out of my bedroom--and into a horrific scene. Jonathan was slumped over the coffee table, unmoving. Rick was nowhere to be seen. The sitting room was a shambles, with books and papers and settee cushions strewn all about. Sir Hugo and two of his nasty little friends were busily engaged in adding to the mess. They were searching the room.

  


"What are you doing?!" I demanded. It wasn't until a second later, as all three men immediately advanced upon me, that I realized how utterly foolish it was to try and confront the lot of them--especially since I was the person they'd expressed such particular interest in the other evening. At least, I assumed it had been them, and their actions now gave me no reason to doubt that assumption.

  


I tried to retreat into my bedroom, but one of them, a small, weaselly fellow, managed to get between the door and the jamb and grab hold of my arm before I could slam the door shut. He dragged me out, then pinned both my arms behind my back, holding me in front of him. I struggled and shouted for Rick, trying to worm free, but the man's grip was like steel. When I kicked out at him, he wrenched my arm so hard, I thought at first that he'd dislocated it at the shoulder.

  


"I wouldn't scream, darling girl," advised Sir Hugo in an amiable tone. "Your fiancé won't be springing to your aid, or anything of the sort, I'm afraid." He gestured in the general direction of the settee with his gold-topped walking-stick. "He's, er, just having something in the way of forty winks, eh?"

  


The man behind me marched me over far enough that I could see Rick, lying prostrate behind the settee. I had only a glimpse of him before I was jerked back to stand before Sir Hugo again. My heart sank. Neither Rick nor Jonathan appeared to be wounded--they must have been drugged, I concluded. There was simply no way that these three men alone could have overpowered Rick otherwise.

  


"Keep looking," he ordered the third man, who went back to tossing things randomly about the room.

  


"I know what you're after," I told him. "And I'll give it to you, as long as you leave once you've got it."

  


Sir Hugo looked almost impressed. "By Jove, could it be? A reasonable woman?"

  


"Not bloody likely," grunted the man behind me. I debated whether to kick him again, but decided that would probably prove counter-productive in the long run.

  


"I give you my word, Evie, my dear. As soon as you furnish us with what we came for, you won't see the likes of me again."

  


"It's in Rick's pocket."

  


"Ah! Is it, now!" Sir Hugo smiled. It was not a pleasant smile, and the fact that his teeth were a nasty shade of brown did little to improve it. "Now, now, little one, you should know better than to lie to your old Uncle Hugo. The first thing we did, once he finally had the good sense to drop off, was to search through his pockets." 

  


That threw me. I'd been certain Rick would keep the amulet with him.

  


"And please don't try to tell me it's in your bedroom, my dear," he continued. "We had a fellow in there already, as you may have guessed--one of the local chaps. He thought we were quite balmy, I dare say, although we paid him well--and you certainly put the fear of God into him when you woke up and began thrashing about in the netting! I thought it was quite clever, dressing him up like an Egyptian, since you seem to think of little else." The rotter seemed to think he knew me, just because we'd met and he'd spoken with my brother about me once or twice. He moved to the settee, sat down, and picked up a glass from the end table, making himself at home. "You see, Evie, old thing," he continued, "I've had a spot of trouble lately with the Department of Antiquities."

  


"Good," I spat.

  


He ignored my comment, but the man who held my arms behind my back tightened his grip.

  


"They're cracking down, don't you know. Collectors aren't as welcome here as they used to be. So, when I'd got my hands on a bit of something, well, I decided the best thing would be to put it to one side, and then retrieve it later. And your brother, helpful chappie that he is, is a great hand for holding onto something and keeping it out of sight."

  


"Jonathan would never have done that to me." I harboured no illusions about my brother: I knew he was a liar, a swindler, and a thief. But I also knew that he loved me, and would never willingly put me in danger.

  


Sir Hugo laughed and slapped his knee. "Fawhaw! Right you are! Right you are indeed. Clever girl. But Jonny didn't know what he'd got, you see. Hadn't the faintest bloody clue. He told us he wasn't going to give it to you until after the wedding... but then he changed his mind. Not a very reliable chap, is he?" He poked Jonathan in the ribs with the head of his walking-stick. "He couldn't, for the life of him, remember where it had gone after you'd unwrapped it."

  


Jonathan didn't stir, and I felt myself going cold all over. I couldn't even see Rick, apart from his legs, but he didn't seem to be moving either.

  


"What did you do to them?" I asked. "If you've hurt either of them..."

  


Sir Hugo actually looked insulted. "Hurt? What d'you take me for?"

  


"You look at the dirty great bruise on my brother's face, and then ask me that again." My anger was slowly coming to a boil. Really, who _did_ this man think he was?

  


He waved away my concerns airily. "An unfortunate accident--he's got quite a bit of fight in him for such a little fellow. We didn't expect him to struggle so, that was all."

  


"You shot at us the other night!"

  


"Another unfortunate accident. My dear, you really do need to learn to count better--the address in the note was next door. You would have gone barging in--as you seem dashedly prone to do, if you don't mind my saying so, old thing--someone would have overpowered you, taken what we needed, and that would have been the end of the whole silly affair. It would have been a brief, if unpleasant, sort of a thing, but you wouldn't have had to worry about it that much... now, of course, it's all thoroughly bolloxed, and if I don't get what I'm after, I'm afraid I may have to, er, um, start murdering people." He examined his manicured fingernails, as if he were hesitant to get blood under them. "In any case, Jonny and your, er, beloved are just having a bit of a lie-down. They'll wake up none the worse for wear, don't you trouble your pretty head over it." He reached into his own pocket and pulled out the amulet that had been my brother's wedding gift, fiddling with it absently.

  


"Look, what are you playing at?" I demanded. "You've already got the amulet! Why don't you just leave?"

  


"My dear girl," he began, standing up and coming towards me.

  


I straightened. "I am not your _dear_ anything, you hateful man. You can't come in here, attack my brother and my fiancé, go through our things, threaten to kill us, and then expect me to stand here and listen to your prattle as though we were old friends."

  


"As you like," he replied neutrally. "However, you seem to be under a bit of a misapprehension, eh? The fact of the matter is, the amulet was never our target. Silly thing's made of nothing but bloody paste."

  


"I knew that," I replied, with all the dignity I could muster. I'd been hoping _they_ didn't know it.

  


"Now, why don't you be a good little girl and tell old Uncle Hugo what you did with the wrapper from your pretty present, hmm?"

  


"I don't remember."

  


Without preamble, he lashed out, dealing me a vicious backhand blow across the mouth. "Please don't lie to me, old dear. I don't like to strike a woman. 'Tisn't sporting, don't you know. Now, where is the papyrus?"

  


My lip was split and bleeding, and I could feel it starting to swell. "I don't know!" I shouted. I wasn't trying to be brave, either--I honestly couldn't recall what I'd done with it. He moved to hit me again, and to buy myself some time, I said, "All right! All right... tell me why it's so important, and perhaps I'll give it to you."

  


The brute behind me cranked my arm until I screamed. Sir Hugo made a peremptory gesture, and the pressure eased.

  


"That's perfectly all right. After all, as an amateur of all things Egyptian, like myself, it might interest you to know." He smiled his disgusting smile. "I was rather surprised, I must say, that you didn't recognize the thing's value immediately. After all, you must have read it."

  


I hadn't. Since a certain incident, involving a certain book, I had an understandable prejudice against reading texts of whose provenance I couldn't be quite certain.

  


"No? Well, it was a wordy little blighter, so I'll paraphrase, if you don't mind... you may have noticed the picture of Tefnut on the thing. Well, my dear, old Akenaten may have been balmy as a bat, but he wasn't stupid, was he? He and his wife used the twin gods Tefnut and Shin as their own personal symbols, divinity on earth, reincarnation, and whatnot. Eh?"

  


"Shu," I corrected. "Not Shin."

  


For a moment, I thought he was going to slap me again. Instead, he merely pinched my cheek--hard. "Bad things happen to little girls who talk out of turn," he said mildly. "Now then, where was I? Ah, yes. Tefnut's likeness was used to represent Nefertiti. Symbolism and all that rot. That little piece of paper you so carelessly tossed aside actually contained directions to her tomb!"

  


"Oh, and I suppose _you_ were going to go there?" The idea of Sir Hugo and his effete friends weathering the desert sands would have been laughable, if not for present circumstances. "Without a permit or even a letter to the Department of Antiquities?" I realized it was a case of the pot calling the kettle black, but he didn't need to know that. What frightened me was that Sir Hugo Brice-Boynton was, literally, a few feet away from the greatest treasure find of this century--and as when he and his half-wit companions began to search my room, they couldn't possibly miss the suitcase I'd left sitting on my bed, unlocked. What they'd do with us once they found it, I didn't know, but I doubted it would be pleasant. My only advantage was the fact that they'd already sent someone to go through my things; perhaps the man hadn't informed anyone that he'd been unable to finish the job before I woke up. Still, I had to get these men out of here, and quickly. There was only one option as far as I could see--and if it didn't work, I'd really be in trouble.

  


"Look here, enough chit-chat," he snapped. "Where is the sodding thing?"

  


"I'll get it for you, if you'll only let me go..." I feigned a sob, ducking my head so he wouldn't see that I was dry-eyed, then bit my swollen lower lip hard enough to call up some genuine tears. "Please, Sir Hugo, I--I won't try to cause any trouble. I promise." I affected a pleading look, blinking so that the drops stole pathetically down my face.

  


He nodded approvingly. "I say, that's more like it." He nodded to the man behind me, who administered a final twist to my arm before letting me go.

  


"It's in my handbag," I told him. "Let me bring it to you." I nearly tripped over Rick's outstretched leg in my haste to get to the table--and my heart leaped into my throat as he stirred, groaning faintly. I wanted to say something to him, to see if he was all right, but I couldn't give him away until it was safe...

  


Reaching my goal at last, I snatched up my bag, pulled out my pistol, and pointed it at Sir Hugo and his villainous friends.

  


"Oh--oh, I say, old girl, you wouldn't--" Three pairs of hands sprang into the air, almost in unison.

  


"I wouldn't push your luck, if I were you," I suggested. "Don't move, gents." I had absolutely no idea what I was supposed to do now. I didn't want to shoot any of them, but we couldn't all just stand there like living statues, waiting for Rick to wake up.

  


Sir Hugo seemed to sense my dilemma: he began inching his way closer to the door, forcing a chuckle. "All's well that ends well, eh, what?"

  


"I said, don't move!" I repeated. "This is loaded!" At least, I assumed it was. It had been when I saw it last.

  


He sneered contemptuously. "You don't even know how to use the bloody thing."

  


I levelled it at his heart. "Try me."

  


"You wouldn't shoot a compatriot, would you, Evie? An Englishman and a gentleman--and nobility, no less? Don't want your name in all the papers back home, do you?" He continued to move, more confidently now. "After all, what harm is there in collecting and trading a few artifacts here and there? It's not as though the idiot natives know the value of such things--they'd sell their own mothers for a song." He reached for the door handle, his expression insufferably smug.

  


"You are everything that is wrong with this country," I told him. And I squeezed the trigger.

  


Of course, nothing happened, because I'd forgotten to take the bloody safety off.

  


A lot of things happened very quickly after that: Sir Hugo sprang forward and knocked the pistol out of my hand. He grabbed at me; I yelped, swore, and kicked him in a place that need not be specified. He let out a yelp and crumpled in a heap. The other two men both came at me. Then Rick seemed to come from out of nowhere, and tackled the man who had held me, knocking him unconscious with one punch. He dealt with the second man equally quickly, slamming him into the wall until he slumped to the ground. With Sir Hugo, though, he wasn't as fast--or as merciful.

  


"You wanna fight? Huh? Why don't you try me on for size?" He dragged him to his feet and held him up with one hand, then jabbed him in the mouth with the other. Not what I'd call sporting, but then, neither is drugging people--or smacking them when their hands are behind them. "Come on, stand up. Or do you only fight with girls?" He delivered a punch to the chin, then another to the face, in rapid succession. There was a sickening crack, and I was certain Rick had broken Sir Hugo's nose. "Maybe she didn't want to shoot you, you bastard, but I sure as shit will." He released his hold, and a second later the pistol was in his hand. He aimed it squarely at Sir Hugo, who was kneeling on the floor, bleeding copiously from his mouth and nose. "I said stand the fuck _up_!"

  


Sir Hugo tottered to his feet.

  


I placed a cautionary hand on Rick's shoulder. "Don't," I told him.

  


"You can't tell me he doesn't deserve it," he growled, working the slide.

  


"Please, don't." I wasn't about to do anything as stupid as get between him and Sir Hugo, and I certainly wasn't going to suggest that we let any of them go free. "We'll take them to the police."

  


"Dammit, Evelyn--!"

  


His gaze never strayed from his quarry for a moment, but I could tell that he was in the midst of an inner struggle. Every instinct he had told him to pull the trigger--as I had tried to do when I'd had the chance. I wasn't going to condemn him for something I nearly did myself. But I hadn't been able to; perhaps because, subconsciously, I knew it was wrong. And I wasn't about to let Rick do something I knew he'd regret later.

  


"Please, Rick," I repeated.

  


Rick gestured to Sir Hugo with the business end of the firearm. "Against the wall. Hands behind your head," he ordered curtly. When Sir Hugo hesitated--he'd been holding one hand over his nose to staunch the flow of blood--Rick barked, "_Now!_"

  


Sir Hugo obeyed.

  


I ran to Jonathan and checked him over. His skin was clammy, and he was breathing slowly and quite shallowly. I shook him and called his name, but he didn't so much as twitch. "What did you give him?" I demanded.

  


Sir Hugo didn't even have the grace to look ashamed of what he'd done. "Laudanum."

  


"How much?" I shook him more forcefully, trying to reign in the sick feeling of panic that had begun to take hold of me. "Jon, for heaven's sake..."

  


"It's probably in the wine bottle, too," Rick pointed out. "The one we thought the hotel left the other night. Right?"

  


Sir Hugo nodded.

  


"And then there was the whiskey," added Rick, grimly.

  


My hands flew to my mouth, and I cried out. No wonder I'd felt so vile that morning--I hadn't been merely hung over, but drugged.

  


Rick cracked a sardonic smile. "Still don't want me to shoot him?"

  


"Shut up and tell me what to do!" I exclaimed, dragging my brother off the table and laying him out on his back. His face was pale, his slack lips a sickly bluish-grey. I could hear him struggling for breath.

  


"How the hell should I know? I'm not a doctor!" To Sir Hugo, he added, "If anything happens to him, I won't just shoot you--I'll kill you with my bare hands. And it won't be quick."

  


"Come _on_, Jonathan..." I pleaded. "Breathe!" Completely at a loss, I did the only thing I knew of to revive someone in a dead faint: I slapped him as hard as I could. Then a second time on the opposite cheek. When his eyelashes started to flutter, I very nearly burst into tears.

  


"What's all that noise?" he mumbled, and tried to turn over. "Can't be morning already..." Then he began to retch, and I helped him to sit up, propping him against the armchair and reaching for the wastepaper basket.

  


"There, now, you're going to be fine," I told him. He had begun to be sick in earnest by this time, and it was not pleasant. "That's it, get it all out of your system... you'll feel much better."

  


"I can't _believe_ you tried to take on three guys by yourself," Rick muttered, shaking his head. He cursed under his breath. I pretended not to hear, reasoning that he was entitled.

  


I couldn't believe it either. I wondered if his shoot-first-and-ask-no-questions attitude was starting to have an influence on my own way of thinking. "They started it," I said, quite truthfully.

  


"Uh huh."

  


He and I exchanged looks. "Are you all right?" I queried. His face was a funny colour--but at least he was standing, which was more than I could say for my brother. Jonathan coughed and spat into the wastepaper basket, mumbling incoherently. "Not going to be sick, or anything?" I pressed, knowing Rick would never willingly admit to being anything but fine until he fell down dead.

  


"Head's killing me," he grunted. "But I'll live."

  


"Evie, I do believe I'm dying," was Jonathan's contribution to the conversation.

  


I petted his back. "Shh. Don't be melodramatic, dear. Head down... there we are."

  


"How about you?" Rick asked.

  


"I'm fine." My shoulder was a bit sore, but that was neither here nor there.

  


"Your mouth is bleeding," he informed me tightly. His voice was controlled, and his arm never wavered as he continued to hold Sir Hugo at gunpoint, but I could almost feel the white-hot anger that emanated from him. "This guy hit you?"

  


I nodded, and wiped the blood from my lip with my sleeve. My biting it so hard had undoubtedly made it worse, but I wasn't about to make excuses for the man after everything he'd done.

  


He turned back to the Englishman, who was visibly trembling now. "You so much as look at her wrong, and I'm gonna shoot you," he informed him quietly. "And I'll aim low."

  


Jonathan stopped heaving and moaned feebly.

  


"So," I began, keeping my tone light and conversational, "are you going to ring up the police, Rick, or shall I?"

  


  



	12. I hope I number patience among my virtue...

  


_Author's Notes: This one is for Buffelyn, who complained about the lack of a certain activity in my stories. ;) If there were a rating between PG-13 and R, I'd give it to this chapter. I don't think it can rightly be called explicit--no body parts are mentioned by name ;)--but there is some involved description of activities involving consenting adults. If you think that will offend you, it probably will._

  


12.

  


"I hope I number patience among my virtues, but shilly-shallying, when nothing is to be gained by delay, is not a virtue."

  


~

  


It was almost two in the morning by the time we got back from the police station. The three of us filed charges of assault and made statements, but I doubted anything much would happen to Sir Hugo and his pals; the majority of the Egyptian population of Cairo would be perfectly happy if a lot more Brits started trying to wipe each other out. Still, they agreed to hold them, and to notify the British consulate, which was all we really expected. The Department of Antiquities would probably have a say in how they were dealt with, too, since the crime involved an artifact.

  


I wished Evelyn had let me deal with them. Every time I happened to catch sight of the bruise at the corner of her mouth, I just itched to get my hands around that guy's throat and squeeze until his pointy little head popped off.

  


I drove Jonathan's car, with Evelyn beside me and Jonathan stretched out in the back seat. He protested, but he was still in no shape to be getting behind the wheel, and we both knew it--and even if we hadn't, having to pull over twice on the way so he could throw up would have pretty damn convincing. The car still wasn't handling well, despite the mechanic's assertions that it was "good as new" after our little adventure, and I'm sure all the stops and starts didn't help. Me, I felt okay; stuff like that never keeps me down for very long, and I hadn't had nearly as much to drink as Jonathan.

  


Evelyn didn't say much during the drive back, just leaned against me, her head on my shoulder. She'd had one hell of a stressful day, the latest of many. I wondered if our life together was ever going to be simple. A small part of me actually hoped not. Simple gets boring real quick, and I don't deal well with boring. I'm not saying I want to be drugged and burglarized and see my girl get smacked around, or have to deal with walking dead guys, but a _little_ excitement never hurt anyone... much.

  


As soon as the car jerked and shuddered to a stop, I shifted over to hop out, only then realizing how heavily Evelyn was resting on me. And damn if she hadn't gone to sleep. Leaving me to put her to bed. Again. She moaned a little when I lifted her up, but quieted down once I had her settled against my chest. 

  


Jonathan didn't get out of the car. "Think I'll go for a walk," he announced, to no one in particular, staring steadily up at nothing. I'm not the most intuitive guy in the world, but I didn't have to be to see that he was hurting. He felt like he'd brought on everything that happened--which was true in one way, I guess, but his only real fault was trusting the men that he thought were his friends. It was a fault I kind of wished I had. I found it difficult to trust anyone.

  


"Just don't walk until you pass out in the street," I joked. "I'm tired of hauling Carnahans around. I'm not a damn delivery service."

  


He laughed mirthlessly. "Don't you worry, my friend. Soon there'll only be one Carnahan left--and who knows how long he'll last, at this rate?"

  


I somehow managed to cradle Evelyn with only one arm, and slap Jonathan on the back with the other hand. "Long enough to be a pain in the ass to his brother-in-law for years, I bet." He would, too, knowing him.

  


"Need any help with her?" he inquired.

  


"Nah, I'm good."

  


"You know," he mused, "I never had a brother."

  


I wondered if I should take him to the hospital after all. "Me neither," I said. All right, so I'm no good at mushy scenes. Especially with other guys, I mean, jeez. Jonathan's so maudlin sometimes. I just have no idea how to deal with him when he gets like that.

  


"When I was a boy, I lived in the hope of one day being able to trade Evie in for one." He grinned.

  


I grinned back. "Well, you kinda did." I mock-punched him in the arm.

  


"Ouch! Steady on..."

  


I rolled my eyes. "I barely touched you." I wanted to say something that would make him feel better about everything that had happened, but nothing came to mind. So I just stood there beside him for a while, in the cool night, holding his sister in my arms.

  


"Shit," I said finally.

  


Jonathan's eyebrows climbed. "And you use that filthy mouth to kiss my baby sister."

  


_Yep,_ I thought. _Every day of her life, if she'll let me_. "My arm's asleep," I explained.

  


Jonathan smiled at that. "Look here, old man, go on and put her to bed. I'll be fine. I need to walk it off, that's all." To demonstrate, he climbed out of the car, stumbling a bit, but managing to stand on his own. "There. You see? I'll just go for a bit of a jaunt--you go up and tuck in Her Nibs there. Just don't bloody well drop her, you'd never hear the end of it."

  


"No kidding. Okay, take it easy."

  


"I certainly intend to."

  


Evelyn stirred, and settled more comfortably against me. I said good night to Jonathan and made my way upstairs.

  


"This is getting real old, you know," I told my sleeping beauty as I nudged her bedroom door open. "I don't remember reading anything in those wedding vows about carrying your lazy ass to bed every night." I knew she couldn't hear me, so I kept talking while I put her in the bed and folded the blankets over her. "If you think this is gonna keep going when we're married, sweetheart, you got a screw loose somewhere in that pretty head of yours."

  


When I was satisfied that she was all tucked in good and proper, I bent down to give her a quick kiss goodnight. Well, it was supposed to be quick, anyhow--but the second our lips touched, she came alive, throwing both arms around me and pulling me in close.

  


"Hey!" I yelled, breaking the kiss as a single thought penetrated my fogged brain. "You were awake the whole time!"

  


Her mouth curved in a devious smile, only slightly marred by the smudgy bruise. "Well, I needed a way to get you in here..."

  


I think my expression at that point could only be described as stunned.

  


The smile faded slightly. "Of course, if you're too tired from carrying my lazy arse to bed every night... and you think I've got a screw loose..."

  


Oh, man, I could already tell I was _never_ gonna live that one down.

  


"...then perhaps we'd better just go to sleep in our own rooms tonight." She folded her arms across her chest, giving the statement an air of finality I didn't like.

  


I swallowed dry air, my heart pounding. "Um, I'm not tired..."

  


She closed her eyes and turned away from me.

  


"Evie, c'mon. Don't be like that..."

  


A pretend snore.

  


"Okay, I get it already."

  


After a moment's hesitation, I placed a hand on her shoulder and rolled her onto her back again. She kept her eyes closed, but I wasn't fooled--I could tell she was peeking at me through her lashes. I took a deep breath. "We don't have to do anything you don't want to," I told her softly. "If you're tired, if you're hurting, I can understand that. You can kick me out of here and I'll go sleep on the couch. But can we just stop playing games for one night? Quit pretending this isn't something we both want?"

  


Her eyes flickered open. "Rick?"

  


"Yeah?"

  


"Stop talking."

  


Well, I'd given it my best shot, anyway. I got up to leave--and turned back to her with a start as her hand shot out and grabbed my wrist.

  


"No, I mean..." she tugged at my hand, and crooked a finger at me in the universal come-hither gesture. "Stop... talking."

  


And that was it. She didn't have to tell me twice... well, not more than twice, anyway.

  


I let her pull me down onto the bed, and into her arms. I lay beside her, trying to be gentle when I kissed her, angling away from the bruised side of her mouth; she was insistent, drawing me back to her whenever I shied away. I wasn't exactly thinking with my brain at this point, so it took me a minute to realize that we weren't going to get too far with me on top of the covers and her underneath. I broke contact just long enough to peel the blankets back, and to quickly shed my boots.

  


While I was doing this, she sat up and reached for the bedside lamp, but I took hold of her hand before she could turn it off. She looked questioningly at me--because, of course, she'd been led to understand that these things took place in darkness.

  


"I want to see you," I explained. "Is that okay?" I needed to know she was comfortable with every part of what was about to happen, especially since the first time was probably going to hurt her. I didn't want that, of course, but there wasn't any way around it as far as I could see. I didn't know exactly how these things worked, but I thought maybe it wouldn't be as bad if she wasn't nervous.

  


She looked surprised, but then she slowly smiled. And nodded. And blushed.

  


"Okay, good."

  


I took it slow at first, kissing and caressing, nothing that wasn't familiar ground by now. After a while, I went to work on her buttons, those same tiny buttons that I'd been so careful to fasten only hours ago. My hands suddenly seemed too big and clumsy to handle them. I started to get frustrated, and the next thing I knew, I'd ripped the damn thing open. I thought she'd be mad at me for that one, but after the initial shock wore off, she laughed, shrugged out of the blouse, and tossed it on the floor.

  


"I never liked it much anyway," she confided.

  


She lay back on the pillows, looking up at me so trustingly that I froze, paralyzed by her expectations and my own raging nerves. Then she reached up and, with an impish grin, slowly started in on my own shirt buttons. Desire overpowered nervousness and I closed the distance, exploring the curves and hollows of her neck and shoulders, the soft swell of her breasts, lips replacing hands as I started to get greedy, wanting to know more and taste more of her, anything, everything.

  


I could feel her tiny hands still working diligently at my shirt, and I lifted my head for a second to ask if she wanted help--and found her wearing such a serious, concentrated expression that I couldn't help but laugh. Her delicious little mouth twisted in a grimace, and the next thing I knew, she'd slid one hand inside my shirt and given me a good, hard pinch.

  


"Okay, tough stuff--that's it." The tension between us found an outlet in roughhousing: tussling, tickling, and all kinds of other good stuff. I made a few interesting discoveries. I found out that I didn't even have to touch that one ticklish spot just above her hip; my hand hovering over it was enough to make her squirm, and scream. I also learned that she was a biter, something I don't even think _she_ knew until I had her pinned down.

  


"Hey!" I yelled, more surprised than anything.

  


"I'm sorry... did I hurt you?" she asked, shame-faced.

  


"Nah." I kissed her soundly, making sure she knew there were no hard feelings. Examining the red mark on my shoulder, I admitted, "Actually... I kinda like it when you play rough."

  


She flashed me a wicked little smile, and I knew I'd created a monster.

  


A second later, she pounced, and we tumbled off the bed in a tangle of arms, legs, sheets, and blankets. I landed hard on my back on the wooden floor, with Evelyn on top of me, both of us winded by the impact. I tried to get up, but she straddled my waist, breathing hard, laughing harder, face flushed, eyes sparkling. She was so incredible that the sight of her made it difficult to breathe, to think.

  


At some point during the proceedings, my shirt had come untucked, and I managed to slide it off over my head, eliminating that problem before she lost her patience the way I'd lost mine earlier. Not that I gave a damn about my shirt, but I wanted this to go as smoothly as possible.

  


"You're beautiful," she whispered, tracing the lines of my chest with splayed hands. Well, I knew I didn't have anything to be embarrassed about, but I hadn't expected that kind of reaction. Especially since she'd seen me with my shirt off a dozen times already.

  


I laughed self-consciously. "Hey, quit stealing my lines."

  


"But you _are_..." She lingered over the scrapes and scars I'd picked up fighting with Imhotep, bending to kiss each one. "Beautiful," she echoed, her breath hot against my bare shoulder. "And so brave..."

  


"You make me brave," I confessed. And then she was kissing me, forcefully, urgently, pressing herself into me. I think, if it was up to her, we'd have finished things right there on the floor. So much for patience being a virtue.

  


Somehow, without breaking contact for more than a second, I managed to get us both back onto the bed. After that, it was like we'd been rehearsing for it. Clothes went flying, and so did inhibitions. Finally seeing her, I told her how gorgeous she was, how sexy, over and over, sounding like a broken record and not caring. Once again, her reaction surprised me: deep, delighted laughter, the kind that made her whole body tremble, like she was so happy she just couldn't hold it in any longer. I knew that was how she felt, because I felt it too. Being there with her... well, it was like a miracle. Something so unexpectedly good you can't even put it into words.

  


I kissed her in places she didn't expect, said her name against her skin. I explored, finding out what she liked and what she needed, learning the map of her body with my hands and mouth, listening to the little noises she made. I knew when I was headed in the right direction whenever she held her breath, or if her tiny fingernails grazed my skin. Once or twice she even bit me again, no longer seeming the least bit apologetic.

  


When the moment finally came, I was careful to read her face. I did it as quickly as I could, figuring that was the best way. Her eyes widened as she realized what was happening, and a second later her whole face changed and she bit her lip, muffling a scream. I asked if she was all right, and she nodded, tears in her eyes. I held her close and whispered that I was sorry, that the worst part was over--and that _she_ was the brave one, which made her smile.

  


Then there were no more words, only the sound of her breathing and, as we got closer to the edge, soft little cries and murmurs, as she spoke an entirely new language I somehow managed to understand. When she finished--seconds before I did--she screamed my name, digging her nails into my back, every part of her body gripping mine...

  


Afterwards, the only noise in her little room was the ringing in my ears. I felt different than I'd expected I would. Normally I just wanted to go to sleep afterwards, or have a drink. Now, though, I wished we could just lie there forever, wrapped around each other. I felt like my understanding of the world had somehow been expanded, like we'd just discovered some great secret about life that only we would ever know.

  


Maybe we did.

  


I reached over the side of the bed and dragged up one of the blankets we'd thrown off, covering us both. She settled comfortably against me, her head on my chest, one arm draped over my waist. I put both arms around her, stroking her back, enjoying the softness of her skin under my hands. We lay there in silence for a while; I knew that anything I said would come out sounding stupid and probably wreck the moment completely. I was almost ready to drift off to sleep, except that then I'd miss out on how great it was to hold her like that.

  


Then, in a voice so soft I barely heard it, she inquired, "How... how was that?"

  


Oh, boy, was I awake now. "Uh, if you have to ask--" I began.

  


"No, but was I... did I... I wasn't laughing at you, you know," she explained hurriedly.

  


"I know, it's okay."

  


"And I'm sorry I shouted in your ear."

  


"No, no. Shouting is good." In fact, remembering how she'd yelled out made me want her again. There was so much more I wanted to show her--and I was sure she could probably teach me a few new tricks. "Yeah, shouting is good. Laughing is good. Everything was... good." Concentrating on more than one thing at a time is definitely not my strong point, and just then I did not want to talk. She was so close... so _available_. It took every ounce of strength in me to keep my hands where they were and just listen to what she had to say.

  


"But was it... what you expected?"

  


"Um..." It had been so much better than I'd expected, better than anything I'd ever known. Before I could figure out how to say that, though, she read all kinds of things into what I didn't say. Typical.

  


"Oh--well--if you--I mean..." she stammered.

  


I shifted to look her in the face. "Are you okay?" I asked.

  


"I'm fine, Rick." Hearing her say my name only reminded me again of the last time she said it, which just made things worse--or better, depending on how you look at it.

  


"You had a good time?" I admit it--I knew she'd enjoyed herself; I just wanted to hear her say it.

  


Her sudden smile was so brilliant it was almost blinding. "Oh, _yes_," she breathed, in a low voice that made my skin tighten all over. That was it. I was ready to go right then and there. But something was definitely bothering her, and I knew it wasn't just going to go away unless I made her tell me what it was.

  


"You're not, um, sore, or anything?" I inquired. I was really reaching by this time; Evelyn wasn't the type to let physical discomfort upset her.

  


"No. Well, a bit, but that doesn't matter."

  


I gave up and went for the direct approach. "Then what's bugging you?"

  


The smile faded, and she got that studious look that meant she was definitely thinking too hard. "I was just wondering... you see, you--you've done this before, and I haven't, and I..."

  


I was starting to get a pretty clear idea of what the trouble was. "You were great, honey," I assured her. "Really. If I didn't know you, I would swear you were kidding me about this being your first time."

  


"I wasn't fishing for compliments," she said miserably, burying her face in her hands.

  


"Evelyn... everything was great. I mean that. And even if it wasn't, come on, it's not exactly the end of the world. We've got lots of time to work that stuff out. Practice makes perfect, right?"

  


"Practice..." she murmured, peeking at me through her fingers.

  


I nodded. "Yeah. Lots... and lots... and _lots_ of practice." I hoped she was getting my meaning--although, considering how close together we were, I think it was difficult to miss.

  


"Even though we did so well the first time, perhaps we ought to practice anyhow," she suggested.

  


Now we were on the same page. "Definitely."

  


"Soon."

  


Dammit. I waited for a respectable interval of about three seconds before asking, "Now, maybe?"

  


"Soon," she repeated, with a contented little sigh, snuggling against me again. "It's getting light outside. Aren't you tired?"

  


"Um, no."

  


"Oh, I don't think I could keep my eyes open another second..." She yawned and stretched languidly. "Mmm, good night."

  


It occurred to me then that, although waiting for Evelyn hadn't killed me, being married to her just might.

  


After an extremely long and excruciatingly painful pause, I heard her say, "Rick?"

  


Good God, _now_ what? "Yeah?"

  


"You're far too easy to tease sometimes."

  


It took a second for the implications of this comment to hit me, and I was way too antsy to be irritated with her when I did figure it out. "So... now?"

  


"Please." She said it like it we were at afternoon tea. Dignified to the last.

  


And we were off and running again.

  


Later, before drifting off to sleep bathed in the light of the morning sun, she told me she loved me; for once, it didn't feel awkward saying it back. I'm not good at saying things like that. I kept my feelings buried so deep and for so long that I stopped believing I even had any, which was probably what made it possible for me to do some of the things I've done in my life. I didn't mind joining the Legion, killing people who'd done nothing to me and putting myself in the line of fire, because there wasn't a single person in this world or the next who would care once I was gone. It was easy to make jokes while they put a noose around my neck, because nothing and no one mattered to me. But now, Evelyn mattered. Her love made me into a brand new person, someone I liked being. I felt like I'd always loved her, like the first day of my life was the day we'd met and nothing before that even existed.

  


So I guess, in a way, that night was the first time for both of us.

  


~~

  


  


_Bonus Author's Notes:_

  


_I've never written a scene like this before, and I'm a bit self-conscious about it, so **please** let me know what you think. I tried to make it involved without being gratuitous, and (relatively) realistic rather than Harlequin-style; most of all, I tried to be true to the characters and particularly to my narrator. That was a tall order, and I'm interested to know how it was received._

  


_Music that got me in the right frame of mind for writing the latter part of this chapter:_

  


_Harry Connick Jr.'s "Jill". Lyrics at http://www.lyrics.net.ua/song/66155 , although I recommend the song itself. I also recommend Harry. Mmmmm._

_Lifehouse's "Everything". Lyrics at http://www.lyricsstyle.com/l/lifehouse/everything.html Thanks to PZB for the song recommendation. The rest of you, go forth and listen. :)_

_Sarah McLachlan's "Sweet Surrender". Lyrics at http://www.azlyrics.com/lyrics/sarahmclachlan/sweetsurrender.html_

_Tegan and Sara's "Come On". Lyrics at http://www.letssingit.com/tegan-and-sara-kfrcv.html , although you have to hear the song to really get the feeling of it. These girls are mega-talented, I advise checking them out in any case. :)_

  



	13. With such thoughts to distract me, the j...

_Author's Notes: Thanks for all who gave feedback to the previous chapter, I really appreciate it. We're almost home, my dears! One more chapter after this one!_

  


13.

  


"With such thoughts to distract me, the journey was accomplished in less time than I had expected..."

  


~

  


We took the ceremony from the Book of Common Prayer. I'd found an older edition of it in the library, strangely enough, tucked in among some obscure and mostly useless German publications on ostraca. Rick objected, complaining that the formality of the language made it too hard to follow; he insisted that he wasn't going to agree to any vows whose meaning he wasn't entirely clear on.

  


Over the course of one long, hot night, during which he changed his mind back and forth at least half a dozen times, I managed to persuade him. In hindsight, I think he put on a show of being more reluctant than was really the case. Which was fine, since I certainly relished the challenge.

  


Once he declared himself thoroughly convinced, we really got down to business, deciding what should stay and what had to go. We left out the bit about my having to obey, since I didn't find that particularly fair; I wouldn't have minded so much if we'd both had to say it, but I knew Rick would never go along with that. Instead, we both agreed to love, honour, and cherish, and left it at that.

  


Rick quite rightly pointed out that he was expected, in addition to everything else, to endow me with all his worldly goods--or, as he phrased it: "Says here I have to give you all my stuff."

  


"Rick, I _am_ all your 'stuff'," I teased, grinning at him. We were stretched out side by side on my bed, propped on our elbows, with the book lying open in front of us.

  


He slipped an arm around me. "Baby, you're my best stuff."

  


The bed being rather small, it was extremely close quarters, but I don't think either of us particularly minded. It was also bare, having been stripped of blankets and sheets during the course of the day's activities. Propriety had been all but abandoned by this time; we'd spent most of the day in my room, with the door locked, alternately talking over the mechanics of the ceremony and being distracted by one another.

  


I'd never expected it would be like this. Most of what I'd read or heard on the subject proclaimed the whole process rather perfunctory, and the woman's role a passive one. My experience thus far had belied--no, effectively shattered--both of these assumptions. It was as though I'd jumped from a precipice, expecting to fall, hoping Rick would be there to catch me... only to discover I could fly.

  


I never knew what it would be next: I was entranced, finding myself entirely at the mercy of the subtle splendour of his body. I'd never thought of men as being beautiful before I met him, but they were, and he most of all. And so I would become captivated by the set of his broad shoulders, or the way the sunlight gilded a lock of his hair; or his arm or leg might brush against mine, quite accidentally, and one of us would shiver; or else our eyes would meet knowingly, and then we'd be off on another exciting adventure, exploring the wonders of God's architecture. Sometimes we'd put the lights out, using our other senses to guide us; other times we'd leave them on, like the first time, and discover all manner of wonderful things about one another.

  


"Now, no more distractions." I swatted him away half-heartedly and rolled onto my back, clutching the book.

  


It certainly didn't help that, after the latest of our series of encounters, we'd both declared ourselves too exhausted to go to all the trouble of dressing again, and now wore only what personal modesty demanded (my personal modesty, since Rick had none whatsoever and would quite happily have spent the entire afternoon without wearing a stitch, if I hadn't requested that he at least put trousers on).

  


"We really ought to read this all the way through at least once..." I asserted. Determined not to let any part of him catch my eye, I turned my head in the other direction and found myself staring at my open closet, the hem of my white gown peeping reproachfully out at me. "D'you think I should get a new dress?" I asked.

  


"What? Now? Why?"

  


"Well... you know." I didn't even have the grace to blush about it any more. Or the energy, quite honestly.

  


I felt, rather than saw, his shrug. "I don't think it matters," he said frankly. "The only person whose opinion you give a damn about is Jonathan, and he knows we haven't been in here all day playing cards."

  


"Especially since he's got the cards," I added. The last time I'd seen my brother, he was hiding away in his own bedroom with cotton batting stuffed in his ears, playing Solitaire and drinking himself into an amiable stupor. I wasn't sure if he was still about, or if he'd taken himself off to points elsewhere for the evening.

  


"Not my fault you can't be quiet," remarked Rick nonchalantly, hooking one foot over my ankle. We were in constant contact now, peculiarly possessive of each other's bodies in a way we hadn't been before. "I barely touch you and you scream."

  


I gave a wordless cry of indignation.

  


He chuckled. "See?"

  


I smacked his bare shoulder with the book. "I should never have given in to you. You're insufferable!"

  


"Uh, 'given in'?" he repeated incredulously. "Since when did you give in? You lured me into your bedroom by pretending to be asleep--"

  


"You don't have to keep harping on it--"

  


"And then you seduced me..."

  


"I did no such thing!" I rolled over and shoved him off the bed. He landed on the floor with a sound thump. "That's it. Out. Out, out, out, I'm not having you in my room a second longer, you horrid man."

  


"You want me to go back to bunking with Jonathan? Fine. Don't ask me how I'm gonna explain all these bite marks." He looked down at his chest, then grinned up at me. "Maybe I'll tell him I was mauled by a jackal."

  


I hit him in the face with a pillow, then stretched out on my back, the open book clasped to my chest. "I don't have time to have another dress made," I sighed.

  


Rick climbed back up onto the bed, reclining next to me on his side. He draped one arm across my waist and pulled me closer. "Buying a new dress would be like admitting we did something wrong," he told me. "I don't think we did. Do you?"

  


I gazed up at him. "No," I breathed.

  


"Good."

  


He leaned down to kiss me, but I put the book between my face and his before he had the chance. "Read," I told him. "We're almost finished."

  


Yeah, yeah." He laid the book open just near my shoulder, so that he had to lean over me to read, and then shifted his weight until I was effectively pinned between him and the bed. Unmistakably the opening gambit in what could turn into a very interesting game. "Okay, let's see..."

  


"The bit that starts, _With this ring_," I prompted absently, suddenly admiring the lovely golden curve of his jaw as though I'd never seen it before.

  


"Right. _With this ring I_..." He stopped reading as I reached up to touch him, trailing my fingers along his jawline to his chin. "Um, wasn't it you who said no distractions?"

  


I withdrew my hand.

  


He grinned, and foxfire flared in his eyes. "I didn't say stop."

  


I resumed my playful little investigation as he began again. "_With this ring I thee wed_..." His eyes drifted closed as my fingertips gently brushed his mouth. "Evie," he murmured, breath warm against my hand.

  


"Keep reading..." I pressed, although we both knew he'd never make it.

  


"_With my body_... _I thee_... _worship_... okay, sounds like a plan." He tossed the book over his shoulder; I heard it smack against the far wall. And I didn't particularly care. It's difficult to maintain interest in preparing for a wedding when one is getting an early start on the honeymoon.

  


  


I finally hit upon the brilliant idea of enlisting Jonathan to act as our mock officiator, thus quashing any possibility of our own particular brand of procrastination. This solved one problem, although it created another, as we both became somewhat irritable. Rick did a lot of pacing, and I did a lot of talking. At one point I had to sit on both my hands to keep from biting my fingernails. We argued with each other and Jonathan over trivialities--who was to sit or stand where, whether we needed to go all out and pantomime the walk down the aisle or simply rehearse the bits we actually had to say, and so forth.

  


After going over the ceremony a couple of times verbally, Jonathan began to get rather sick of us. I had to keep reminding him that he needn't read the bit about obeying, because I wasn't going to say it. Rick began inserting decidedly non-traditional things into his pretend vows, seeing whether I would catch him promising to take me "in sickness, and hung over," and so on. He also kept trying to move his hands to less respectable areas of my person whenever he thought Jonathan wasn't looking--which is all very fine and well if you're subtle about what you're doing, but Rick is not a particularly subtle man. (His claim that I started it, by means of a series of suggestive looks, is of course patently ridiculous.) When slapping his hand away didn't work, I had to resort to pinching him--although _that_ didn't work particularly well either, since he quite enjoys it, for reasons I still can't fathom. Finally I stamped on his foot, which produced a funny low growl. He didn't say much after that, but the way he looked at me suggested that he'd already surpassed the limits of his patience.

  


I was feeling rather harried myself by this time, and I didn't protest when Jonathan declared himself quite disgusted with the pair of us, and announced that he was off to spend the night with a friend. Whether the friend was male or female, I saw no reason to inquire, having learned through experience that there was very little to be gained by prudery, save a good deal of frustration. Besides, when all was said and done, it was quite nice having the entire suite to ourselves, rather than being confined to my little set of rooms--although I must confess that, once Jonathan had left, there was little variation in the way we occupied ourselves.

  


Quite simply, we couldn't get enough of each other--an extremely distracting state of affairs, but also a very pleasant one, as long as the outside world left us alone to play the game of love to our hearts' content.

  


The night before the wedding, when I wanted to go over the ceremony just one last time for comfort's sake, Jonathan locked himself in his room and flatly refused to come out. He wouldn't even let Rick in, which caused quite a commotion because Rick refused to spend the night in my room, stubbornly insisting that it was _bad luck_ (the emphasis is his own) for him to see me before the wedding. I pointed out--quite reasonably, considering the ridiculous tenor of the entire discussion--that it was only _bad luck_ if he saw me in the dress. Rick was adamant, citing the last time I'd ignored superstition, which I didn't think was particularly fair, since he'd been just as eager as I to delve into the mysteries of the black book.

  


We both did quite a bit of shouting after that, drawing on the reserves of energy that would otherwise have been dedicated to... well, to making one another shout, I suppose, but in a very different context. In the end, I decided I didn't particularly want him in my room, and, since Jonathan had taken himself and his cotton batting off to bed, Rick slept on the settee.

  


I was woken up bright and early by my disgustingly chipper brother, who insisted on dogging my every step. I later found out that he had received strict orders from Rick, to see to it that I didn't do anything that might bring the much ballyhooed _bad luck_ (presumably in the form of frogs, flies, locusts, and so forth) raining down upon us.

  


Men... honestly.

  


Upon catching me checking my reflection in the looking-glass, Jonathan tweaked my ear mercilessly, and made me put another pin in my hair without looking to see where it went, saying that it was even _bad luck_ for me to see myself. I was beginning to feel quite the walking plague by this time. He drove me straight to the church as soon as I was dressed, refusing to let me out of his sight for a second. He also took a sixpence from his pocket and made me put it in my shoe, and when I managed to shake it out, he caught me and put it back himself.

  


It was a very small ceremony: just Jonathan, a few old friends of our parents' who still resided in Cairo, and one or two members of the staff at the Museum. I wore the white dress, after all. Rick wore his newly-tailored suit, and looked wonderful, all golden-skinned and handsome. Jonathan wore... something, I assume, I hardly glanced at him. When the minister asked who gave this woman, I half-expected my exasperated brother to turn round and yell, "Here, you can bloody well take her!" and give me a hearty shove down the aisle. He was very nice about it, though, simply saying, "I will," and giving my hand a squeeze as he placed it into the minister's. I actually think he might have been crying, a little, although he claimed afterward that he was coming down with a cold.

  


The minister directed Rick to repeat after him: "_I, Richard_..."

  


Rick couldn't stop staring at me. "You look fantastic," he blurted.

  


Jonathan clapped a palm to his forehead.

  


I smiled, shook my head, and replied, "Thank you. Although you could stand to work on your timing."

  


He grinned.

  


The minister's bland brow acquired a subtle crease. "_I, Richard_..." he said again, louder.

  


"I, Richard..."

  


"..._take thee, Evelyn_..."

  


"...take thee, Evelyn..."

  


I wasn't nervous, but Rick seemed a bit rattled; when it came time to place the ring on my finger, he fumbled and dropped it, inserting a couple of words into the ceremony that were definitely not to be found anywhere in the Book of Common Prayer. If it weren't for Jonathan's keen eye for valuables--he boasts that he can spot gold at twenty paces, and on this occasion he certainly proved himself--I don't know that we'd have ever found it again. I think the minister thought we were all a bit cracked by this time, but the rest of the ceremony went off without much trouble. The dreaded _bad luck_ never materialized, and I didn't cry, which I'd worried about--I'd discovered in the course of recent events that I usually tended to cry at the most inappropriate moments.

  


I also didn't faint, thank heaven, although there was one awful instant when I thought I was going to. When the minister solemnly pronounced us man and wife, and it hit me that we'd really done it, that we were _married_, my head began to swim, my knees buckling momentarily. It could have been the heat of the day, I suppose, or the stale air of the little chapel, or simply the fact that I hadn't eaten. Whatever it was, it passed without my having to be slapped by anyone, which was a mercy. I had a feeling that my new husband, as gentle as he could be when it suited him, would probably belt me a good deal harder than Jonathan usually did in trying to bring me around.

  


Rick, rock-steady as ever, was my support, and if he noticed me wobbling when we shared our first kiss as a married couple, he didn't say a word about it.

  


The reception was even smaller, and consisted of Jonathan and a couple of my father's friends going out and getting thoroughly pie-eyed in our honour. Neither of us had wanted much of a fuss, and we certainly didn't need a party or gifts or anything of the sort, really. One of my father's oldest friends, Mr. Carter, had generously established a small exploration fund through the Museum, in our names--our _name_, O'Connell, a thought that tickled me to no end--and that was more than enough.

  


Jonathan let us have the use of his car--something I've never known him to do for anyone. He did, however, refuse to have it decorated or to let anyone tie anything to the back, which was a relief, since I didn't particularly relish driving about Cairo with things clanking and clattering behind us, and people tooting their horns and shouting.

  


Rick drove quite responsibly--a surprise in itself!--but seemed even more stoic than usual. I didn't notice it at first, since I was busily making plans for the day:

  


"First we need stop at the hotel so I can get out of this dress before it gets ruined... we must finish packing for the train... and then we've simply got to find somewhere to eat--I'm famished! I couldn't eat a single thing this morning, my stomach was all over butterflies... are you hungry, Rick? Rick...?"

  


He didn't even look at me. We'd only been married an hour--I had the ring and the dress to prove it--and he was already ignoring me. It was undoubtedly a new world record.

  


"_Rick!_"

  


He swerved and came within inches of running over a perfectly innocent fruit vendor, slamming on the brakes at the last possible instant. "What are you yelling for?" he demanded.

  


"You didn't hear a word I said, did you?"

  


The fruit vendor, meanwhile, was fervently giving thanks to Allah and edging away from the front of the car.

  


"I was thinking about something. Why, what'd you say?"

  


I could have smacked him. "It's not important what I _said_! You weren't listening to me!"

  


Rick looked completely mystified. "If it wasn't important, who cares whether I was listening or not?"

  


"_Ooooooh!_"

  


He backed the car into the street and we zipped onward, passing through an intersection without even slowing.

  


"It isn't a race, you know," I reminded him.

  


He slowed down until we were practically at a crawl.

  


I sighed. "Don't be juvenile."

  


He pulled up sharply in front of the hotel and hopped out of the car without troubling to open the door. I told him quite plainly that he was going to ruin that suit if this sort of thing went on. He turned, planted his feet, and opened his mouth to start bawling in his inimitable fashion--when he suddenly got a sort of startled look, and then burst out laughing.

  


I got out of the car on my side, slammed the door shut, and began to walk away in dignified silence. I refused to make a scene in the street. Unfortunately, as I discovered a few steps later, I'd been in such a hurry that I'd trapped the back of my dress in the car door. I tried to reach around and free myself, but found I'd been most effectively pinned. Short of ripping my dress in two, I didn't seem able to manage it.

  


Rick laughed doubly hard when he realized what I'd done.

  


I glared at him over my shoulder. If this sort of thing continued, he'd be spending his wedding night on the settee.

  


He finally had the courtesy to stop enjoying my humiliation and come round to help me. Of course, he flung the door open with such force that I tumbled over onto the sidewalk. As he reached down to pull me up, he was still chuckling.

  


"I don't see what's so amusing." I folded my arms, tacitly refusing his help.

  


"I--you--it just hit me, Evie. While we were arguing. We sound... married."

  


"We do?"

  


"Yeah. I like it," he admitted. He flashed me such a warm smile that all my irritation melted away and evaporated, and all that was left was a lovely misty feeling.

  


"So do I," I told him, and raised my hands for him to help me to my feet. Instead, though, he swept me up into his arms and carried me into the hotel, through the lobby, and past several staring patrons.

  


"Rick, put me down!" I whispered frantically. "Everyone's watching us!"

  


"So? Let 'em." For someone who claims not to be romantic, Rick is quite fond of grand gestures, especially when there happens to be an appreciative audience present. The men we passed seemed rather alarmed--but the women, I noticed, looked either amused or envious. "You only do this once," he added.

  


I grinned. "Speak for yourself."

  


"Don't make me drop you..."

  


I slid both arms around his neck and kissed him soundly, and everything around us faded away. He was right, after all. We were only going to do this once. We might as well enjoy ourselves.

  


I don't remember the flight of stairs that he must have carried me up to get to the suite; I also don't recall how we managed to get the door open, since all four of our collective hands were otherwise occupied. But I do remember that later--it was a good while later, as I recall--he remarked, "Well, I got you out of the dress before it got wrecked, just like you wanted."

  


"You were listening, after all," I murmured. I wondered at what point clothing had become entirely superfluous to our relationship, decided I didn't care, and snuggled happily against his broad back, hugging him round the waist.

  


"Guess so. Still hungry?"

  


I nipped affectionately at the juncture of his neck and shoulder.

  


"Guess so!" he repeated, laughing. "Okay, Mrs. O'Connell, better get dressed before you start knawing on my leg."

  


I debated whether to rise to the implicit challenge, but I really was quite ravenous with hunger. Rick, on the other hand, didn't seem in any great hurry: I was fully clothed in the time it took him to put socks and underpants on. I climbed up on the bed and shoved him off it with both feet, then waited there impatiently while he wandered about looking for clothes. He was doing it deliberately, of course, reasoning that if he took long enough to dress, I'd forget about all about food and pounce on him. I was getting to know his little tricks, just as he was beginning to catch on to mine. I opened my mouth, intending to tell him that this was not on, that we were going out to eat whether he wanted to or not, but what came out when I started to speak was something else entirely.

  


"Say it again," I urged.

  


He glanced over at me, amused. "Say what, honey?"

  


"What you just called me."

  


"Honey?" He stepped into his trousers and did them up.

  


"No, before that."

  


He frowned, and then confusion gave way to recognition. "Get used to it, Mrs. O'Connell," he remarked, smiling.

  


Hearing it gave me tingles all over. "Again."

  


"_Again?_" He shot me a look.

  


"Oooh, go on. Please?"

  


He was in the process of buckling his belt. "Mrs. O'Connell..." he repeated. Then, after a moment, "That really does it for you, huh?"

  


"Mmmm, absolutely."

  


"Should I even bother?" he asked, indicating his shirt.

  


"Darling, if I try to go on without anything to eat--" I threw myself across the bed melodramatically, the violence of the action making my head spin. "I'm going to faint dead away." I opened my eyes to find him leaning over me. "This," I informed him, indicating my supine posture, "is not an invitation."

  


"Could've fooled me."

  


He captured my mouth with his own before I could reply. I didn't respond immediately, but he was very assiduous, and before long I began to waver. Another hour or so wouldn't kill me, after all... My stomach growled loudly in protest, and Rick left off kissing me, laughing.

  


"Okay, okay, I get it." He ran his hand over my midsection. "No food, no nookie."

  


I smacked his arm. "Don't be vulgar."

  


"So it's okay to do it, but not to talk about it?"

  


I made a face. "You could use nicer terms..."

  


"That's the nicest one I can think of," he admitted. I had no doubts about his honesty; over the past week, I'd heard him refer to the activity in question as 'fooling around', 'going again', 'hitting the sheets', 'practicing', and the ever-popular, '...you know'.

  


"Why not just call it what it is, Rick?"

  


He regarded me dubiously. "Sex?"

  


"Lovemaking." I smiled.

  


He made a face. "That just sounds corny. Who do you think I am, anyway, Rudolph Valentino?"

  


"_Oooooh_." I pushed him off me. He'd had his chance, and he'd missed it. "Not even close."

  


  



	14. Little did I realize how strangely our d...

_Author's Notes: _

  


_Nefret, you have finally done it. You've stumped me. I hadn't even **thought** about gifts between the bride and groom. *throws hands up in defeat* That's it. I give up. Story's over._

  


_Seriously, everyone, this is the end of the line. (Try not to think of this as an ending, so much as a stepping-stone to the next story... ;)) Thank you for sticking with me--and Rick, Evelyn, and Jonathan--all the way through. Your comments and questions were an inspiration and a delight. Please do keep reading and reviewing. :)_

  


_It took me forever to figure out where to end this chapter. I really didn't want to let the characters go. If this ending isn't to your taste, well, you shall just have to imagine that I wrote something very romantic and insightful. And if you can do better, then drop me a line to let me know where it's posted when you're done. After all, that's what fan fiction is all about--if you feel something's missing, do it yourself! ;)_

  


  


14.

  


"Little did I realize how strangely our destinies would be intertwined; that that act of simple charity would reward me beyond my wildest dreams..."

~

  


Well, Evelyn had done nothing but make me crazy from the moment I said "Will you marry me?" to the moment I said "I do". But when all was said and done (especially done), I don't think either of us could have been happier with the way things turned out.

  


I don't think I'd ever seen her so nervous as when she came down that aisle on Jonathan's arm. She was almost as white as her dress. She was lucky I didn't take it personally. I mean, being sacrificed by a mummy doesn't scare her, but being married to me _does_? Not exactly a big ego-boost. But I knew how she felt--not that I was nervous, of course, but I understood what it was like to have your stomach tied up in knots and your mouth all dry and your palms sweaty and your heart hammering away in your chest even though you knew there was no good reason for it... okay, maybe I was just a little nervous. I could have sworn Evelyn was going to faint, though. She got this funny look on her face near the end, and I actually had to hold her up. I was just hoping and praying that she wouldn't keel over--I didn't think either of us could stand to go through the whole ceremony again!

  


But then I got permission to kiss the bride, and that seemed to make everything better.

  


It was weird, having an entire day centered around us, with everyone treating us special and congratulating us. Evelyn, normally so awkward in social situations, was suddenly very dignified and regal, saying exactly the right things. Me, I just kind of stood there, grinning stupidly over her shoulder and shaking people's hands as they came by. I confined myself mostly to one-word answers: "Yeah." "Thanks." "Right." "Bye." I couldn't wait to get out of there, away from these people, most of whom I didn't even know. I felt like everything was flat, somehow, in comparison to Evelyn--like all the people around us were just cardboard, and I wished a good strong wind would just blow them all away.

  


Jonathan let me drive his car, which he once swore would never happen "even if hell froze over and the devil turned his hand to a roaring trade in ice sculpture." Go figure. He did treat me to a nice little lecture when he handed over the key--something about how if I did a lick of damage, he'd have my hide, and he could do it because he had very large, stealthy friends. He'd been drinking, so I never quite figured out if it was his car or his sister he was protecting; I didn't intend to let anything happen to either, so I just listened, nodded, and pounded him on the back every so often for good measure.

  


Evelyn had skipped breakfast that morning, which wasn't surprising--she never eats when her mind is occupied with something. Of course, by the time we got back to the hotel, she was famished. She wouldn't let me have any peace until she got something to eat, so we went back out. It would have been nice to have a little more time to ourselves, but I didn't really mind as much as I claimed to. I never would have admitted it, but I liked giving in, letting her think she'd outsmarted me somehow. I hoped that didn't mean that I was going to be henpecked.

  


We went to the same small, crowded restaurant where I took her on our first real formal date, a thoughtful touch I figured she'd like. She didn't even remember the place until I pointed out our table--and then she claimed she knew all along, and was just testing me. The staff remembered her, though. It's hard to forget the girl who breaks four water glasses before her meal even arrives. And that was without having had a single drink. Pure nerves.

  


She'd looked like a scared little girl that night, didn't seem to know which way to turn. It's one thing, to fall for a stranger in the middle of the desert, especially when you're in a dangerous situation--it's mysterious and exciting, and you don't really have to think about it much. But when you get back to civilization, and you have to find ways to bring this person into your real, everyday life, that's when the problems start. The brave girl with the dazzling smile was suddenly watching me with a grim expression that suited a funeral better than a first date.

  


I'd been a total mess too, don't get me wrong; I had it set in my head that nice girls just didn't end up with guys like me. I was almost a hundred percent certain I was going to screw up royally before the night was over. But helping to get past Evelyn's shyness didn't really give me much of a chance to be nervous. I told stupid jokes that had her laughing behind her hand. I bombarded her with every cheesy come-on line I could think of, trying to make her blush. "Oh, _Rick!_" she'd squeal, scandalized and delighted at the same time. "You're _terrible!_" I'd held her hand under the table, shyly, like we were kids with a crush, getting ready to carve our initials into something. What we'd crafted instead, as it turned out, was something much more permanent.

  


Now we were on what was basically our first outing as a married couple. We both handled the big change in different ways: I got very quiet and thoughtful, which for me was pretty rare. Evelyn got the giggles, which was even rarer. Evelyn liked to be thought of as a demure, dignified, serious-minded academic. Helplessly snorting water because the waiter addressed her as "Madam" instead of "Miss" didn't exactly help to boost this image. And it went on all through dinner, for no apparent reason. She'd just all of a sudden get silly and goofy and full of laughter. People kept looking over at us, but I didn't care.

  


I reached across, through the folds of the tablecloth, and found her hand. That made her smile. She toyed with the ring on my finger, which I was still getting used to.

  


"So tell me, O'Connell--I mean, Rick," she began, exactly as she had on that first evening, "what are your plans for the future?"

  


"Well," I replied, just like I did then, "they include kissing you at the end of the night. Hope that's okay with you."

  


She tilted her head, watching me inquisitively. "That's very nice, but I was speaking of something more... long-term."

  


"So was I." I grinned.

  


Evelyn giggled.

  


"That's not what you said next," I pointed out.

  


"Oh, I don't remember what I said next," she lied, with a wave of her free hand. "Something quite forgettable, I'm sure. I don't believe I did a lot of talking. You were quite the silver-tongued devil that evening, as I recall."

  


"You mean during dinner, or after I walked you home?"

  


She made a sour face and kicked me under the table. "You know perfectly well what I mean! Stop trying to insert innuendo into everything I say. Unlike you, I do have the capacity to go without discussing such things for more than five minutes."

  


"You can't go without discussing _anything_ for more than five minutes."

  


She tried to kick me again, but I dodged. Her shoes were pointy.

  


"I remember a time," I said wistfully, "when we used to play footsie under the table. Now that we're married, all I get is a boot in the shin. Typical."

  


She giggled again.

  


"What _is_ that?" I demanded. "What's so damn funny?"

  


"I honestly--don't know!" Between spasms of laughter, she managed to gasp, "I think the wine's gone to my head."

  


She hadn't had more than two sips of the wine, but I didn't point that out. Instead, I topped off her glass.

  


"You're trying to get me drunk, aren't you, Mister O'Connell?" she continued, mock-indignantly.

  


"So you _do_ remember what you said next. I knew it."

  


"As I recall, Rick, you never gave me an answer to that question."

  


I grinned, slightly abashed. The truth was, the answer to that question didn't do me a whole lot of credit. "Well, not so much that you'd pass out before I got to kiss you," I teased, giving her hand a squeeze.

  


"Aha!" She hit the table with a little fist, like she'd just drilled a confession out of me. "So you admit that you did have improper intentions."

  


"Only since the moment I saw you."

  


She glanced down at the table, then peeked at me through her lashes. Even though I knew she wasn't quite as innocent as she sometimes made herself seem, that coy little look always did me in. "Flatterer," she murmured, smiling. "I'll bet you say that to every girl you meet."

  


"Sure, but you're the first one I said it to and really meant it."

  


I thought I was going to get a kick under the table for that one, but her only response was, "Good."

  


Evelyn hadn't been kidding around when she said she was famished: when the food came, she ate almost as much as I did, which is saying something. She even had two desserts--hers and mine--while I added _mihallabiya_ to the rapidly-growing list of foods she liked that really disgusted me. I seriously couldn't figure out why anyone would want to go and wreck a perfectly good rice pudding by throwing rosewater in there.

  


"I'm not kissing you tonight if you keep eating that stuff," I told her.

  


She shrugged, loading up her spoon. "More fool you, then."

  


When the wine finally did kick in, it seemed to make her more sleepy than giggly. Although the fact that she'd just eaten enough to feed a small village probably contributed to her sudden fatigue. When she yawned twice in the middle of telling a story, I knew it was time to go.

  


In the car, she laid her head on my shoulder and gave a little sigh. I knew this routine.

  


"Don't you dare go to sleep on me."

  


"Mm-hmm..."

  


"When I said I wasn't going to carry you to bed any more, I wasn't kidding."

  


She settled herself more comfortably against me. "You're so good to me, Rick," she breathed, her mouth just below my ear. Her breath was rose-scented.

  


"Yeah, nice try. I mean it. You'll be sleeping in the car."

  


"...all right."

  


It was useless, of course: by the time we got back, she was out like a light. (She was really sleeping this time; I whispered a few less-than-polite things in her ear to make sure. She didn't even stir.) I really had to learn to put my foot down in this marriage, or little Evie and her pointy shoes were going to walk all over me for the rest of my life. I seriously considered leaving her outside in the car, but even I could tell that was a dumb move on many levels. Besides, though I'd only been doing it for a short time, I'd already gotten used to waking up next to her.

  


After I'd put Evelyn to bed, gotten undressed, and put up the netting, I lay there, staring at the ceiling and pondering the injustice of it all. Ever since that first night, she'd done nothing but try to entice me into her tiny little bed. (To be fair, I don't think it took much enticing before I gave up, but still.) Now that we finally had a room all to ourselves, with a real bed big enough for the two of us, and her brother was out of earshot... all she wanted to do was sleep.

  


Typical.

  


I was a pretty sound sleeper when I got comfortable, which was probably why I eventually woke up to the most godawful commotion you could possibly imagine. The bed was shaking, lights were flickering, furniture was banging around, and my lovely wife was squealing like a stuck pig.

  


"Evelyn, what the hell--?!"

  


I couldn't see her, but when I moved to the edge of the bed I nearly stepped on her--she was sprawled on the floor, and, wonder of wonders, had somehow managed to get herself wrapped up in the mosquito netting. She'd been kicking the bedside table where the lamp was sitting--hence the flickering and banging.

  


For a few seconds, all I could do was look at down her in disbelief, wondering if this was some kind of _mihallabiya_-induced nightmare. Finally I got up, picked her up, and set her, still hollering, on the bed. "Let's not put this thing up any more. Malaria would probably be safer," I told her, loosening the web of fabric knotted around her legs. Unwrapping a mummy would have been easier. At least they usually stayed still--well, so I'd heard, anyway.

  


I heard her mutter under her breath--something about me being an idiot. I didn't entirely agree with her assessment. I mean, there was a time in my life when I'd have been lucky to get the girl's name right after being woken up at two in the morning. Since meeting Evelyn, I'd never had that problem even once. I would have called myself a reformed idiot.

  


I flipped her over onto her stomach and yanked away the remainder of the netting. I guess I could have been a bit more gentle--she rolled right off the bed and landed with a squeak and a thump. Right on her ass. Sounded like it hurt, too.

  


"Heh. Whoops."

  


She sat up and glared at me, eyes dark and smouldering. Of course, all I could think of was how incredibly tempting she looked, sprawled on the floor in her little slip, her hair a mess of tangled waves, her chest rising and falling rhythmically.

  


"Sorry," I added, crouching down next to her. "Are you okay, honey?" I placed a hand on her knee.

  


She didn't stand up, which was promising. "I'm fine, thank you."

  


"What are you doing up, anyhow?" I asked. "We don't have to start getting ready for another... four hours." I slid my hand further along the smooth white slope of her leg. "Right?" Since we were both awake anyhow, hopefully we could find something fun to do for those four hours...

  


She jumped to her feet, brushing me off. Well, so much for that idea. Now I was _really_ starting to feel married. "I have to call Jonathan," she announced.

  


"Evie, it's two a.m. He's probably asleep."

  


She shot me a look.

  


"Okay, he won't be asleep, but I bet he's... out. With his friend from the other night." I hoped for Jonathan's sake he'd gone to her place. "Come on, what are you calling him for anyway?"

  


She smiled. It was the kind of smile that gave me mixed feelings; on the one hand, I loved it when she was happy, but seeing that particular expression on her face usually meant that _I_ was about to be less happy. This was her "I've-got-the-bloody-book-and-I'm-damn-well-going-to-read-it" smile. It was almost never a good thing.

  


"I'm so excited, Rick, I've just got to talk to him... you see, I've finally remembered what happened to that papyrus."

  


"Papyrus?" Oh, holy hell. She could not be serious. "The one with the, uh...?" I tried to get between her and the telephone, but she wormed past me. "That papyrus?"

  


"Of course that papyrus! I've been racking my brain, trying to recall what I'd done with it, and just now it came to me."

  


"Oh yeah?" My voice went up about an octave for that one.

  


"Yes, don't you remember?" There was a patch of pink blossoming in each of her cheeks. "It was--it was in his jacket pocket--I showed it to you by mistake, don't you remember? Oh, you _must..._"

  


Her passion for knowledge was a kind of lust, a fever. It consumed her, and it made her oblivious to everyone and everything around her. But it also made her radiant. I wasn't sure if I wanted to grab her and kiss her cross-eyed, or yell at her until she started talking sense.

  


"Jonathan was going to send a telegram, and I wrote it down for him--I just snatched up whatever bit of paper was nearest to hand."

  


My head was spinning. "Evelyn..."

  


She was stammering out of sheer excitement. "I-I-I took everything from the pockets of his jacket out of habit, I put it all into my sleeve, everything--everything's on Jonathan's dresser, in his room--he never tidies his room, it should all still be there, he's still there, there's no reason why it shouldn't be..."

  


"Evelyn," I said again, louder this time.

  


"Can you--can you _imagine_? All that time, it was right out in the open, none of us even thought to take a closer look at it... But they might come after it again. Or--or someone else might. We can't take that chance, we simply can't. I have to telephone Jonathan, we need to copy the directions and then get the paper to somewhere safe. I can get funding from the Museum and the Department of Antiquities--and if not, well, we'll just have to go it on our own, won't we? You'll have to make preparations, we'll need supplies and a--"

  


"_Evelyn!_"

  


"Yes, darling?"

  


"Can't it wait a few days?"

  


She looked at me like I'd just suggested we go back and wake Imhotep up again, just for the hell of it. "Rick, this could be the most amazing archaeological discovery of the century. We--we--we can't just let it slip through our fingers! We owe it to the world, and to--"

  


"I'm not saying we don't ever go, I'm just saying we don't have to go right this second! What happened to our honeymoon?"

  


"What happened to your sense of adventure?"

  


"I married _you_, didn't I? That was taking a pretty big risk."

  


She glared. "Fine. If you don't want to go, Jonathan will--"

  


She went for the telephone again. I caught her around the waist and picked her right up off the ground. She squirmed and huffed, but I held on tight. "Okay, my turn to talk now," I told her. After a little more struggling, she went slack in my arms.

  


"Go on, then," she sulked, knowing she was licked.

  


This was it. I was going to take a position, and stick to it, and not let her beg or bully me into going along with whatever crazy plan she had in mind. "I refuse to spend our honeymoon in the desert digging up corpses with your brother," I announced. I mean, to me--and to any other sane person--this statement made perfect, logical sense. I figured I'd probably found the only girl in the world who'd be willing to fight me on this point. And then I'd married her.

  


"Oh, you refuse, do you?"

  


"Yeah. I _refuse_," I repeated, savouring the word. _I should have done this ages ago_, I thought. "And you know why?"

  


"Do tell." It was hard to know for sure, but I think she was talking through gritted teeth. Well, I didn't care. I was standing firm.

  


"I've been waiting forever to get out of here and spend some time with you. Just you and me. No Jonathan. No Jonathan's crazy friends. No dead guys. No sunburn. No curses. No books. No sand, no scarabs, no mummies, no tombs. No nothing. I don't want to go back out there, Evelyn, and there isn't a damn thing you can say that'll make me change my mind. That's it. End of story. So we can either argue about it until the sun comes up, or we can do something more interesting with our time."

  


"Very well. Could you put me down, please?" she asked, so sweetly that I knew she was about to try her next plan of attack.

  


Well, all right, I thought. Bring it on. I was ready for anything. I set her on her feet.

  


She turned and blinked at me, doe-eyed. "Rick," she sighed, "you're right."

  


_That_ was a first. "Of course I'm right," I agreed, cautiously. If she thought turning up the charm was going to work, she had another thing coming.

  


"I don't care about treasure. Or adventure. Or discovery." She slid her arms around me, lacing her fingers together just above the small of my back, pressing herself against my chest. Suddenly she was all softness and smiles, her little face tilted up towards mine. "All I want is _you_, my love," she whispered.

  


It had to be a trick. She couldn't actually be giving in this easily. Still, it wouldn't hurt me to go along for the time being. "Now you're talking," I said.

  


"I'd much rather be doing something else... kiss me."

  


I was happy to oblige.

  


"We'll do just as you like..." she murmured, after an interval during which her mouth was otherwise occupied. "We'll get on the train in the morning and go far, far away from here. Just the two of us." She let me guide her over to the bed, then pushed me down into it and landed on top of me. "We don't ever have to go back into the desert if you don't want to."

  


"Okay. Good." Why did I get the sense that there was a catch I was missing? Of course, at that point, I was more concerned with getting her the rest of the way undressed. I didn't want to rip her slip--she hated sewing, and she was running out of clothes due to mutual impatience. Pulling it off over her head seemed the easiest way of doing it. "Arms up," I told her breathlessly.

  


"Mmm."

  


I wasn't sure if that was an acknowledgement or just a happy noise. She stayed where she was, and her arms stayed where they were.

  


"Evie," I said, more distinctly, "put your arms up."

  


"Darling..."

  


By this time, her hand was in a place that ensured she definitely had my full attention. "Yeah?"

  


"I think you're forgetting something, don't you?"

  


"What?"

  


She smiled. "You're not the only one who can... _refuse_."

  


Okay, she did _not_ mean what I thought she meant. She couldn't be that cruel. Not Evelyn. Not my sweet, loving, generous wife.

  


She lowered her mouth to mine for a last, lingering kiss, then just got up and walked away. She sauntered over, perched on the table next to the telephone, and crossed her legs, looking at me expectantly.

  


"Oh, come _on_!" I yelled, sitting up on the bed. "You can't do that! It's not fair."

  


"Neither is holding me up off the ground," she pointed out. "We all must cut our cloth to fit our pattern, mustn't we?" She really did have a saying for every occasion. It would have been cute if it wasn't immensely frustrating and a bit painful.

  


I sighed. "This really is your idea of fun, isn't it?" I asked.

  


"What, this?" She gestured to our relative positions. "Not particularly. I'd much rather be over there with you. You're the one who turned this into a battle of wills."

  


"No, I mean... You love all this desert adventure garbage. Digging for treasure, chasing after rumours and fairy tales--"

  


"Now, you know I don't believe in fairy tales and hokum, Mister O'Connell," she said, doing a top-notch impression of the over-confident girl who stole my heart away.

  


"Uh-huh. How 'bout a compromise?" I suggested.

  


"Well... what have you in mind?"

  


"We go out and take a look. You and me. No Jonathan."

  


"You're simply determined to be rid of him, aren't you?" Her face was dead serious, but I caught the start of a smile in her eyes.

  


I stood up and walked over to where she was. "Hey, I like the guy as much as you do, but you didn't have to bunk up with him."

  


"Well, you won't either," she assured me gently.

  


I ran my hand over the soft curve of her shoulder and down her back. "Yeah, but... it's not like there's a lot of privacy out there, you know?"

  


"True..."

  


"He'd be able to hear every move we made. All the time."

  


This obviously hadn't occurred to her. I could almost see the little wheels in her head turning.

  


"And I think we'd have a lot more fun without him," I pressed. "Don't you?"

  


"I don't know, Rick... I'd hate to leave him out of all this."

  


I'd known all along that this was how it was with her. I knew better than to try and make Evelyn choose between me and her brother. It wasn't a contest, never had been. And I was more than willing to admit that keeping her out of trouble was a two-man job.

  


"Okay. We go alone and check things out. He joins us once we start digging," I conceded. A decent archaeological survey--especially using Evelyn's meticulous methods--could take weeks, even months. "And if we find something--if there's even anything to find--the credit goes to all three of us."

  


She beamed at me.

  


"So... we have a deal here, or what?"

  


"Deal," she declared, and stuck out her hand.

  


I took hold of it like I was going to shake it, but instead gave it a good pull. She slid right off the table and into my waiting arms, just like I'd hoped she would.

  


"Ooooh. You're the handsomest, cleverest, nicest, best husband in the world, and I love you," she told me.

  


I snickered. "Yeah, sure, when you're getting what you want."

  


"Don't worry, darling," she assured me, with a devious smile. "You'll get what you're after, too..."

  


And, to give her credit, I sure did.

  


  


  


It was almost dawn when she finally put the call through to her brother. I lay in bed, exhausted and grinning like an idiot. I wasn't sure how it had happened, but she'd become my whole world, this girl. More than the whole world; I was sure that even heaven couldn't have compared to the kind of happiness I felt just watching her.

  


She sat at the table near the window: back straight, legs crossed at the ankle, face sweet and demure. Never mind the fact that she was completely naked except for one of my favourite shirts. The slip, like many others before it, had come to an untimely end, and the shirt looked a damn sight better on her than it did on me anyway.

  


While she waited for the call to go through, she put her hair up with a few deft twists of the hand, jabbing a pencil through the heavy coil to hold it in place. It was a maneuver I must have seen her do a hundred times, but I didn't think I'd ever understand how she managed it so neatly. I reckoned that if I tried it, I'd probably punch a hole in the back of her head.

  


She blew me a kiss over her shoulder. I'm not sure what it was--the upswept hair, the loose-collared shirt, the all-too-innocent expression, the way the soft light made her skin glow--but something suddenly reminded me of how she'd looked on the morning we met. By the time she'd started to talk, I was only half-listening, immersed in memory.

  


"Jonathan? Yes, it's me. What d'you mean, 'me who'? Me, your dearest darling sister, that's who, you silly goose... Ah-ah, be nice. I'm coming over to see you."

  


It all happened pretty quick, see. Jonathan kind of shoved her at me, obviously thinking I'd be more likely to spill my guts to a cute girl than to a guy who cheats at cards and picks pockets all at the same time.

  


"Yes, now! Well, I don't care if you've got company, just you tell her to get dressed and go home!"

  


I could barely see her face under her hat, but the rest of her looked all right as far as I could tell. When I dismissed her as _not a total loss_, I had no idea that I'd be regretting those words for the rest of my life--from the moment I first caught a glimpse of those bright eyes...

  


"That's right. No, it has to be immediately. We have a lot to discuss. No, I _can't_ give you twenty minutes! Jonathan, really."

  


I didn't know why I'd bothered to fight her, really, then or now. We were both happier when she was getting her own way.

  


"Rick and I are going to find Nefertiti's tomb." She giggled, and held the receiver away from her ear so that I could hear Jonathan's surprised squawk. "All right, calm down... I'll explain everything when I get there."

  


She put the telephone down with him still bawling on the other end. When she turned to me, her whole face was shining with happiness and excitement, and I knew I'd made the right decision. Which meant it was definitely time to get some sleep. I rolled onto my back, finally allowing my eyes to drift closed.

  


"Not coming with me, I suppose?" she asked, moving to sit beside me on the bed. When I didn't answer right away, she prompted me with a little poke and a, "Hmmm?"

  


"Nah. Not if it means getting dressed. Or getting up." I yawned. "Or staying awake, even."

  


"All right. I won't be long, I promise." Her fingers absently traced patterns over my bare stomach. "Will you miss me?"

  


"Yeah. Especially the way you hog all the blankets."

  


"You're lovely when you're asleep," she observed. "So quiet and sweet."

  


"You ain't seen nothin' yet, baby. Gimme a few minutes, I'll be--" here I yawned again-- "downright adorable."

  


"Mmm, I believe it."

  


I don't know how long it was before I realized that, instead of getting dressed, she seemed to be curling up next to me, her head resting on my chest.

  


"Thought you were leaving."

  


"I am." She wasn't. "In a minute."

  


"Okay." I sure wasn't going to twist her arm; instead I put mine around her. After a minute or so, I murmured, "Love you."

  


"I wish you'd say it when we're both fully awake," she said plaintively.

  


"Yeah... good luck with that."

  


"Or at least when you've got pants on."

  


"Times are tough all over the--hey! No biting, you little--"

  


I felt her evil cackle, as well as heard it. "When did we decide on that rule?" she wanted to know.

  


"I dunno--maybe when you started being the only one allowed to get any sleep around here?"

  


"I can hear your heart beating," she sighed, snuggling in closer.

  


"You made Jonathan send his little friend home."

  


"I know..."

  


"He's gonna be pissed off if you don't get your ass in gear, honey."

  


"...don't swear."

  


"Especially if this is your excuse for not going."

  


"I said I was going."

  


"Right."

  


"Soon."

  


"Uh-huh."

  


After another few minutes, I took the pencil out of her hair. Last thing I needed was that jabbing me in the eye while I slept. I said my wife's name, softly. The only answer I got was a little snore.

  


Jonathan could wait, I decided.

  


  


  


  


_I found a dream that I could speak to_

_A dream to call my own_

_I found a thrill to press my cheek to_

_A thrill like I have never known_

_Oh, when you smile, when you smile_

_That's how the spell was cast_

_And now here we are in heaven_

_For you are mine at last..._

  



End file.
